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LADY MARY WORTLEY MONTAGU : 
Her Life and Letters (1689-1762) 


BY THE SAME AUTHOR 


THE LIFE OF WILLIAM MAKEPEACE THACKERAY 

THE THACKERAY COUNTRY 

SOME ASPECTS OF THACKERAY 

VICTORIAN NOVELISTS 

THE LIFE AND LETTERS OF LAURENCE STERNE 

THE LIFE AND LETTERS OF WILLIAM BECKFORD OF 
FONTHILL 

THE LIFE OF JOHN GAY 


THE LIFE AND LETTERS OF WILLIAM COBBETT 

THE BERRY PAPERS 

THE LIFE OF PHILIP, DUKE OF WHARTON 

THE FIRST GEORGE 

“FARMER GEORGE”’ 

“THE FIRST GENTLEMAN OF EUROPE” 

AN INJURED QUEEN: CAROLINE OF BRUNSWICK 

THE BEAUX OF THE REGENCY 

SOME ECCENTRICS AND A WOMAN 

THE. SOUTH* SEA’) BUBBLE 

THE WINDHAM PAPERS. With an Introduction by the Earl of 
Rosebery, K.G. 

THE WELLESLEY PAPERS 

NELL GWYN: THE’ STORY OF HER LIFE 

LADY SUFFOLK AND HER CIRCLE 

BEAU BRUMMELL: HIS LIFE AND LETTERS 


BATH UNDER BEAU NASH 

BRIGHTON: ITS FOLLIES, ITS FASHIONS, AND ITS 
HISTORY 

ROYAL TUNBRIDGE WELLS 





Digitized by the Internet Archive 
in 2021 with funding from 
University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign 


https://archive.org/details/ladymarywortleymO00ben| 


AUBREY HAMMOND 258 





Lapy MARy WortTLEy Montacu (AGE 8) AT THE KiT-CAT CLUB. 
By Aubrey; Hammond 


Frontispiece. 


LADY MARY 
WORTLEY MONTAGU: 


Her Life and Letters (1689-1762) 


By 


LEWIS MELVILLE 





WITH A FRONTISPIECE BY AUBREY HAMMOND, 
AND SIXTEEN OTHER ILLUSTRATIONS 


BOSTON AND NEW YORK 
HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY 





BAL 
M76 VAR 


To 
EDITH anp JOHN CABOURN 





PREFACE 


_ Lapy Mary Wortley Montagu has her niche in the history of 
medicine as having introduced inoculation from the Near East 
into England ; but her principal fame is as a letter-writer. 

Of her gifts as a correspondent she was proud, and with 
reason. It was in all sincerity that in June, 1726, she wrote to 
her sister, Lady Mar: “ The last pleasures that fell in my way 
was Madame Sévigné’s letters: very pretty they are, but I 
assert, without the least vanity, that mine will be full as enter- 
taining forty years hence. I advise you, therefore, to put none 
of them to the use of waste paper.’’ And again, later in the 
year, she said half-humorously to the same correspondent : 
“I writ to you some time ago a long letter, which I perceive 
never came to your hands: very provoking ; it was certainly 
a chef d’ceuvre of a letter, and worthy any of the Sévigné’s 
or Grignan’s, crammed with news.’”’ That Lady Mary’s belief 
in herself was well founded no one has disputed. Even Horace 
Walpole, who detested her and made attacks on her whenever 
possible, said that “in most of her letters the wit and style are 
superior to any letters I have ever read but Madame de 
Sévigné’s.”” A very pleasant tribute from one who had a 
goodly conceit of himself as a letter-writer. 

Walpole, as a correspondent, was perhaps more sarcastic and 
more witty ; Cowper undoubtedly more tender and more gentle ; 
but Lady Mary had qualities all her own. She had powers of 
observation and the gift of description, which qualities are - 
especially to be remarked in the letters she wrote when abroad 
with her husband on his Mission to the Porte. She had an 
ironic wit which gave point to the many society scandals she 

yu 








Vili Preface 


narrated, a happy knack of gossip, and astyle so easy as to 
make reading a pleasure. 

Some of the incidents which Lady Mary retails with so 
much humour may be accepted as not outraging the con- 
ventions of the early eighteenth century when it was customary 
to call a spade a spade ; when gallantry was gallantry indeed, 
and the pursuit of it openly conducted. What is not mentioned 
by those who have written about her is that she was possessed 
of a particularly unsavoury strain of impropriety which out- 
raged even the canons of her age. Some twenty years after her 
death, it was mentioned in the Gentleman's Magazine that Dr. 
Young, the author of Night Thoughts, had a little before his 
death destroyed a great number of her letters, assigning as a 
reason of his doing so that they were too indecent for public 
inspection. Only the other day I had confirmation of this 
from a distinguished man of letters who wrote to me: “I 
have somewhere hidden away a copy of a letter by Lady Mary 
Wortley Montagu, which was sent to me by a well-known col- 
lector about thirty-five years ago, because he couldn’t destroy 
it and wouldn't for worlds be found dead with it in his possession 
—so terrific is it in character. I'll tell you about it some day 
when we meet: I can’t write it. In any case you couldn’t use 
it or even refer to it. . . . I suppose that my friend quite felt 
that the document, however objectionable, should not, on 
literary grounds, be destroyed. What my executors will 
think of me for having it in my possession, the Devil only 
knows.”’ 

Whether this strain permeated the diary which Lady Mary 
left behind her when she eloped in 1712, and which was des- 
troyed by one of her sisters, no one can say ; but it is a curious 
fact that the diary she kept in later years was destroyed by her 
devoted daughter, Lady Bute. ‘‘ Though Lady Bute always 
spoke of Lady Mary with great respect,’ wrote Lady Louisa 
Stuart, “ yet it might be perceived that she knew it had been 
too much her custom to note down and enlarge upon all the 
scandalous rumours of the day, without weighing their truth or 





Preface 1x 


even their probability ; to record as certain facts stories that 
perhaps sprang up like mushrooms from the dirt, and had as 
brief an existence,'but tended to defame persons of the most spot- 
less character. In this age, she said everything got into print 
sooner or later ; the name of Lady Mary Wortley would be sure 
to attract curiosity ; and were such details ever made public, 
they would neither edify the world, nor do honour to her 
memory.”’ 

Lady Bute heard that her mother’s letters were in existence, 
and, fearful of what they might contain, purchased them. ‘“‘It 
is known that when on her way to die, as it proved, in her own 
country, Lady Mary gave a copy of the letters to Mr. Snowden, 
minister of the English church at Rotterdam, attesting the 
gift by her signature,’’ Lady Louisa Stuart has written. ‘‘ This 
showed it was her wish that they should eventually be pub- 
lished; but Lady Bute, hearing only that a number of her 
mother’s letters were in a stranger’s hands, and having no 
certainty what they might be, to whom addressed, or how little 
of a private matter, could not but earnestly desire to obtain 
them, and readily paid the price demanded—five hundred 
pounds. Inafew months she saw them appear in print. Such 
was the fact, and how it came about nobody at this time of 
day need either care or inquire.’’ 

With regard to other correspondence of Lady Mary, Sir 
Robert Walpole returned to her the letters she had written to 
his second wife, Molly Skerritt, after the death of that lady ; 
and when Lord Hervey died, his eldest son sealed up and sent 
her her letters, with an assurance that he had read none of 
them. To Lord Hervey’s heir, Lady Louisa Stuart has men- 
tioned, Lady Mary wrote a letter of thanks for his honourable 
conduct, adding that she could almost regret he had not glanced 
his eye over a correspondence which would have shown him 
what so young a man might perhaps be inclined to doubt— 
the possibility of a long and steady friendship subsisting be- 
tween two persons of different sexes without the least mixture 
of love. Much pleased with this letter, he preserved it ; and, 





x Preface 


when Lady Mary came to England, showed it to Lady Bute 
desiring she would ask leave for him to visit her mother.” 

It is to be presumed that Lady Mary, or her daughter, Lady 
Bute; destroyed these collections. For her part, Lady Mary 
returned letters that she had received from Lord Hervey, but 
only those that belonged to the last fourteen years of an 
acquaintance that had endured twice so long. These are for 
the greater number platonic in character, although there are 
a few phrases of a freer kind. Croker, who edited Lord Hervey’s 
Memoirs, mentions that Hervey, answering one of her 
letters in 1737, in which she had complained that she was too 
old to inspire passion, after paying a compliment to her charms 
more gallant than decorous, said: “I should think anybody 
a great fool that said he liked spring better than summer 
merely because it is further from autumn, or that they loved 
green fruit better than ripe only because it was further from 
being rotten. I ever did, and believe ever shall, like women 
best— 


“* Just in the noon of life—those golden days, 
When the mind ripens as the form decays.” 


Lady Mary was then in her forty-ninth year, being six years 
Hervey’s senior. 

Lady Louisa Stuart, writing in 1837—that is, seventy-five 
years after the death of her grandmother, Lady Mary—wrote 
indignantly of the attacks that had been made upon her ances- 
tress. “The multitude of stories circulated about her—as 
about all people who were objects of note in their day—increase, 
instead of lessening, the difficulty,” she said. ‘‘ Some of these 
may be confidently pronounced inventions, simple and purely 
false ; some, if true, concerned a different person ; some were 
grounded upon egregious blunders ; and not a few upon jests, 
mistaken by the dull and literal for earnest. Others, again, 
where a little truth and a great deal of falsehood were probably 
intermingled, nobody now living can pretend to confirm, or 
contradict, or unravel. Nothing is so readily believed, yet 


Preface ) x1 


nothing is usually so unworthy of credit, as tales learned from 
report, or caught up in casual conversation. A circumstance 
carelessly told, carelessly listened to, half comprehended, and 
imperfectly remembered, has a poor chance of being repeated 
accurately by the first hearer ; but when, after passing through 
the moulding of countless hands, it comes, with time, place, and 
person, gloriously confounded, into those of a bookmaker 
ignorant of all its bearings, it will be lucky indeed if any trace 
of the original groundwork remains distinguishable.” 

Lady Mary’s most redoubtable assailants were Pope and 
Horace Walpole, and both were biassed. The story of Pope’s 
quarrel with her is told in the following pages. Walpole, it has 
been suggested, disliked her much because she had championed 
his father’s mistress, Molly Skerritt, against the mother to whom 
he was devoted. Pope, of course, knew her well ; but Walpole, 
who was twenty-eight years her junior, only met her in her late 
middle age. Walpole’s prejudice was so great what when Lady 
Mary said, ‘“‘ People wish their enemies dead—but I do not, 
I say, give them the gout, give them the stone,” he reported it 
solemnly. 

Of course, it is not to be assumed that Lady Mary had not 
her full share of malice—she was undoubtedly well equipped with 
that useful quality—and she did not turn the other cheek when 
she was assailed. She could even stand up to the vitriolic 
Sarah, Duchess of Marlborough, and stand up so effectively that 
they tacitly agreed to an armed neutrality that verged peril- 
ously upon friendship. The young Duke of Wharton sometimes 
beat her in open fight, but she harboured no very angry feelings 
towards him. As regards Pope, if it was not tit-for-tat with 
him, at least she gave him hard knocks. Pope, great poet as 
he was, never played fair in war. 

“Lady Mary, quitecontrary,”’ she might have been dubbed, 
for she was frequently in trouble. The Rémond scandal, that 
will presently be unfolded, was a thing apart ; but her witty 
tongue made her many enemies and cost her many friends. 
Had the contents of her letters about London society become 





X11 Preface 


known at the time, nearly every man’s and all women’s hands 
would have been against her. She had, in fact, little that was 
kind to say about people ; when she had, she usually refrained 
from mentioning it. 

In this work Lady Mary’s letters, either whole or in part, are 
given only in so far as they have biographical or historical value. 
At the same time I have, wherever possible, allowed Lady Mary 
to tell her story, or to give her impressions, in her own words. 
The quotations have been taken, by kind permission of Messrs. 
J. M. Dent & Sons, Ltd., from the edition of the letters in their 
‘Everyman Library ”’ (edited by Mr. Ernest Rhys), with an 
introduction by Mr. R. Brimley Johnson. 

The first edition of the letters appeared in three volumes in 
1763, believed to have been edited by John Cleland. A fourth 
volume, issued in 1763, is regarded by Sir Leslie Stephen as of 
doubtful authenticity. James Dallaway, in 1803, brought out 
an enlarged collection and added to it the poems, and a second 
edition, with some new letters, appeared fourteen years later. 
Lady Mary’s great-grandson, Lord Wharncliffe, edited the 
correspondence in 1837, and this, revised by Mr. Moy Thomas, 
was reprinted in 1861 and again in 1887. 

Therehave been published selections from thecorrespondence 
by Mr. A. R. Ropes (1892) and by Mr. Hannaford Bennett (1923). 

The principal authorities for the life of Lady Mary Wortley 
Montagu are the Memoirs of James Dallaway prefixed to an edi- 
tion of the Works (1803) and the Introductory Anecdotes in 
a new edition (1837) by Lady Louisa Stuart, the daughter of 
Lady Bute and the granddaughter of Lady Mary. There is 
another account of Lady Mary by the late Moy Thomas in 
revised editions of the letters and writings (1861 and 1887). 
Sir Leslie Stephen was responsible for the memoir in the 
Dictionary of National Biography. In 1907 appeared Lady 
Mary Wortley Montagu and her Times, by that sound authority 
on the eighteenth century, ‘‘ George Paston,” who was so 
fortunate as to discover many scores of letters hitherto 
unpublished. 





Preface Xi 


Other sources of information are to be found in Pope’s 
Correspondence, Spence’s Anecdotes, Dilke’s Papers of a Critic, 
Cobbett’s Memorials of Twickenham, the Stuart MSS. at 
Windsor Castle, the MSS. of the Duke of Beaufort, and the 
Lindsay MSS. 

My thanks—though not, perhaps, the thanks of my readers 
—are especially due to that ripe scholar Mr. Hannaford Bennett, 
who suggested this work to me. I am indebted to Mr. M. H. 
Spielmann and other friends and correspondents for information 
and suggestions. Finally, I must acknowledge the valuable 
assistance of Mrs. E. Constance Monfrino in the preparation of 
this biography. 

Lewis MELVILLE. 


London, 
March, 1925. 





CONTENTS 


PAGE 


PREFACE : - - - - - - vil 
CHAPTER I 
CHILDHOOD (1689-1703) 


Birth of Mary Pierrepont, after Lady Mary Wortley Montagu— 
Account of the Pierrepont family—Lady Mary’s immediate 
ancestors—Her father, Evelyn Pierrepont, succeeds to the 
Earldom of Kingston in 1790—The extinct marquisate of 
Dorchester revived in his favour—His marriage—lIssue of 
the marriage—Death of his wife—Lady Mary stays with her 
grandmother, Mrs. Elizabeth Pierrepont—Her early taste 
for reading—She learns Latin, and, presently, Italian— 
Encouraged in her literary ambitions by her uncle, William 
Feilding, and Bishop Burnet—Submits to the Bishop a trans- 
lation of ‘‘ Encheiridion ’’ of Epictetus—An attractive child 
—A “toast ’”’ at the Kit-Cat Club—Acts as hostess to her 
father - - - - . - ee ha. 


CHAPTER II 


GIRLHOOD (1703-1710) 


Lady Mary makes the acquaintance of Edward Wortley Montagu— 
Montagu attracted by her looks and her literary gifts—Assists 
her in her studies—Montagu a friend of the leading men of 
letters of the day—Addison, Steele, Congreve, Vanbrugh, and 
others—The second volume of the Tatler dedicated to him 
by Steele—Montagu a staunch Whig—Hlis paternal interest 
for Lady Mary does not endure—He becomes a suitor for her 
hand—Lady Mary’s devotion and respect for him—Her flirta- 
tions—She and;Montagu correspond through the medium of 
his sister, Anne—Lady Mary’s mordant humour—Her delight 
in retailing society scandal—The death of Anne Wortley— 
Lady Mary and Montagu henceforth communicate direct— 
Her first letter to him - - - - ee &: 


xV 





XV1 


Contents 


CHAPTER III 


COURTSHIP, ELOPEMENT, AND MARRIAGE (1710-1712) 


A lengthy courtship—Montagu a laggard lover—Lady Mary and 


Montagu exchange views on married life—Montagu proposes 
for her to Lord Dorchester—Dorchester refuses, since Montagu 
will not make settlements—Montagu’s views on settlements 
expressed (by Steele) in the Tatlev—Although not engaged, 
the young people continue to correspond—Lord Dorchester 
produces another suitor of his daughter—She consents to an 
engagement—The preparations for the wedding—She con- 
fides the whole story to Montagu—She breaks oft the engage- 
ment—She and Montagu decide to elope—She runs up to 
London—Marriage—Lady Mary’s diary destroyed by her 
sister, Lady Frances Pierrepont - - - - 


CHAPTER IV 


EARLY MARRIED LIFE (1712-1714) 


An uneventful existence—Montagu’s Parliamentary duties take 


him to London—Lady Mary stays mostly in the country— 
Correspondence—Montagu a careless husband, but very care- 
ful of his money—Later he becomes a miser—Lady Mary does 
not disguise the tedium of her existence—Concerning a 
possible reconciliation with her father—Lord Pierrepont of 
Hanslope—Lord Halifax—Birth of a son, christened after his 
father, Edward Wortley Montagu—The mother’s anxiety 
about his health—Family events—Lady Evelyn Pierrepont 
marries Baron (afterwards Earl) Gower—Lady Frances 
Pierrepont marries the Earl of Mar—Lord Dorchester marries 
again—Has issue, two daughters—-The death of Lady Mary’s 
brother, William. His son, Evelyn, in due course succeeds 
to the Dukedom of Kingston—Elizabeth Chudleigh—The 
political situation in 1714—-The death of Queen Anne—The 
accession of George I1—The unrest in the country—Lady 
Mary’s alarm for her son - - - - - 


CHAPTER V 


THE ACCESSION OF GEORGE I (1714) 


Lady Mary shows an increasing interest in politics—She tries to 


incite her husband to be ambitious—Montagu not returned 





PAGE 


47 


66 








Contents XVii 





PAGE 
to the new Parliament—His lack of energy—Correspondence 


—The Council of Regency—The King commands Lord 
Townshend to form a Government—The Cabinet—Lord Hali- 
fax, First Lord of the Treasury—Montagu appointed a 
Lord Commissioner of the Treasury—Correspondence—The 


unsatisfactory relations between Lady Mary and Montagu - 78 
CHAPTER VI 
LADY MARY WORTLEY MONTAGU’S ACCOUNT OF THE COURT OF 
GEORGE I - - - - - - - 88 


CHAPTER VII 
AT HERRENHAUSEN AND ST. JAMES (1714-1716) 


The Elector George Lewis not delighted at his accession to the 
British throne—A greater man in Hanover than in London— 
Lady Mary modifies her first impression of the King—She 
isin high favour at Court—Anamusing incident at St. James’s 
—The early unpopularity of George I in England generally, 
and especially in the capital—The Hanoverians in the Royal 
Household—The Duchess of Kendal—The Countess of 
Darlington—Lady Mary’s description of the Hanoverian 
ladies—The Duchess of Kendal’s passion for money—Her 
influence with the King in political matters—Count de 
Broglie—The scandal about Lady Darlington refuted—Lady 
Mary and the Prince of Wales—The King and the Prince 
of Wales—The poets and wits of the day—Gray’s tribute 
to Lady Mary—Pope’s verses on her—‘‘ Court Poems ”’ - 100 





CHAPTER VIII 
THE EMBASSY TO THE PORTE (1716—-1718)—I 


Montagu loses his place at the Treasury—His antagonism against 
Walpole—Lady Mary, ‘‘Dolly’’ Walpole, and Molly Skerritt 
—The Earl and Countess of Mar leave England—Montagu 
appointed Ambassador to the Porte—Leaves England for 
Constantinople, accompanied by his wife—Letters during 
the Embassy to Constantinople—Rotterdam—Vienna— 
Lady Mary at Court—Her gown—Her interest in clothes— 
Viennese society—Gallantry—Lady Mary’s experience—Court 
Tarrocco—Precedence at Vienna—A nunnery—The Montagus 
visit the German Courts—A dangerous drive—Prince 
Frederick (afterwards Prince of Wales)—Herrenhausen - 14 

B 








XVill Contents 





CHAPTER IX 


THE EMBASSY TO THE PORTE (1716—1718)—II 


PAGE 


Adrianople — Turkish baths— Lady Mary wears Turkish 
dress—Her description of the costume—Her views on 
Turkish women—She becomes acquainted with the 
practice of inoculation—Her son engrafted—Her belief in 
the operation—She later introduces it into England—Dr. 
Richard Mead—Richard Steele supports her campaign— 
Constantinople—Lady Mary homesick—Exposes the British 
ignorance of Turkish life—Montagu recalled—Addison’s 
private letter to him—-Lady Mary gives birth to a daughter— 
The return journey—TheMontagus at Paris—Lady Mary sees 
her sister, Lady Mar - s a! - é - 127 


CHAPTER X 
A SCANDAL 


Montagu re-enters the House of Commons—His miserliness—Pope 
refers to it—Comments on Society—Lady Mary and a 
first-class scandal—Rémond—His admiration for her— 
Her imprudent letters to him—The South Sea Bubble—Lady 
Mary speculates for Remond—She loses money for him—He 
demands to be re-imbursed—He threatens to publish her 
letters—She states the case in letters to Lady Mar—Lady 
Mary meets Pope—His letters to her when she was abroad 
—He affects to bein love with her—Her matter-of-fact replies 
—RHer parody of his verses, ‘On John Hughes and Sarah 
Drew ”’ - - - - - = - 146 


CHAPTER XI 
AT TWICKENHAM 


The Montagus take a house at Twickenham—Lady Mary’s liking 
for country life—Neighbours and visitors—Pope—Bononcini, 
Anastasia Robinson, Senesino—Lord Peterborough—Sir 
Geoffrey Kneller—Henrietta Howard—Lord Bathurst—The 
Duke of Wharton—His early history—-He comes to Twicken- 
ham—His relations with Lady Mary—Horace Walpole’s 
reference to them—Pope’s bitter onsaught on the Duke—An 
Epilogue by Lady Mary—* On the Death of Mrs. Bowes ”’ 
--The Duke quarrels with Lady Mary - - - 168 





Contents X1x 


CHAPTER XII 


A FAMOUS QUARREL 


PAGE 


Pope and Lady Mary—He pays her compliments—His jealousy 
of her other admirers—The cause of his quarrel with her—His 
malicious attacks on her thereafter—Writer of her as 
““ Sappho ’’—Lady Mary asks Arbuthnot to protect her— 
Molly Skerritt Lady Stafford—Lady Mar’s malicious 
tongue and pen—Mrs. Murray—‘“ An Epistle from Arthur 
Grey ’’—Lady Mary, Lord Hervey, and Molly Lepell—Death 
of the Earl of Kingston—Lady Gower—Lady Mar— 
Marriage of Lady Mary’s daughter - - - ELIS 





CHAPTER XIII 
ON THE CONTINENT (1739-1744) 


Lady Mary leaves England—She does not return for twenty years 
Montagu supposed to join her—The domestic relations of 
the Montagus—A septennial act for marriage—Lady Mary 
corresponds with her husband—Dijon—Turin—Venice— 
Bologna—Florence—The Monastery of La Trappe—Horace 
Walpole at Florence—His comments on Lady Mary and her 
friends—Reasons for his dislike of her—Rome—The Young 
Pretender and Henry, Cardinal York—Wanderings—Cheap- 
ness of life in Italy—-Lady Mary’s son, Edward—He is a great 
trouble to his parents—His absurd marriage—His extrava- 
gance and folly—Account of his early years—He visits Lady 
Mary at Valence—Her account of the interviews’ - - 201 


CHAPTER XIV 
LADY MARY AS A READER 


Her fondness for reading—Her difficulty to get enough books 
while abroad—Lady Bute keeps her supplied—Lady Mary’s 
catholic taste in literature—Samuel Richardson—The vogue 
of Clarissa Harlow—Lady Mary tells a story of the 
Richardson type—Henry Fielding—Joseph Andrews— 
Tom Jones—Her high opinion of Fielding and Steele 
—-Tobias Smollett— Peregrina Pickle—Lady Vare’s 
Memoirs of a Lady of Qualty—Swrah Fielding—Minor 
writers—Lord Orrery’s Remarks on Swift—Bolingbroke’s 
works—Addison and Pope—Dr. Johnson” - - - 


N 
N 
n 





xXx Contents 


CHAPTER XV 


LADY MARY ON EDUCATION AND WOMAN’S RIGHTS 


PAGE 
The choice of books for children’s reading—The dangers of a 


narrow edcation—Lady Mary advocates the higher education 
of women—Girls should be taught languages—Lady Mary’s 
theories of education for girls—Women writers in Italy—A 
““rumpus ”’ made by ladies in the House of Lords—Woman’s 
Rights—Lady Mary’s views on religion - - - 252 


CHAPTER XVI 
ON THE CONTINENT (1745-1760) 


Lady Mary stays at Avignon—She removes to Brescia—And then 
to Lovere—She abandons all idea of Montagu joining her 
abroad—Her house at Lovere—Her daily round—Her health 
—Her anxiety about her son—An amazing incident—A 
serious illness—A novel in a letter—Her correspondence 
attracts the attention of the Italian authorities—Sir James 
and Lady Frances Steuart—Politics—She is in the bad 
books of the British Resident at Venice—Lord Bute—The 
philosophy of Lady Mary—Letters to Lady Bute and Sir 
James Steuart - - - - - ead 


CHAPTER XVII 
LAST YEARS (1760-1762) 


Lady Mary writes the history of herown times—Her health—Death 
of Edward Wortley Montagu—His will—Lady Mary ponders 
the idea of returning to England—She leaves Italy—She is 
held up at Rotterdam—She reaches London—Horace Walpole 
visits her—Her last illness—Her fortitude—Her death—She 
leaves one guinea to her son - - - - 307 


INDEX - - ~ - " - . 5 Tle 


LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 
Lady Mary Wortley Montagu (age 8) at the Kit-Cat 


Club - - - - Frontispiece 
FACING PAGE 

Lady Mary Wortley Montagu - - nip ey 
Lady Mary Pierrepont - - - - 48 
Evelyn Pierrepont, first Duke of Kingston - ty £:| 
Lady Mary Wortley Montagu, 1720 - - - 82 
Sarah, Duchess of Marlborough - - - go 
Lady Mary Wortley Montagu - - - II0 
Frances, Countess of Mar - - - - 124 
Lady Mary Wortley Montagu - - - 136 
Lady Mary Wortley Montagu - - - 150 
Alexander Pope - - - - - 164 
Joseph Addison - - > - - 180 
Henrietta Louisa, Countess of Pomfret - - 202 
Horace Walpole - - - - 210 
John, Lord Hervey of Ickworth - - - 268 
Mary, Countess of Bute - - - - 2098 


Edward Wortley Montagu, Junior - - - 308 





Lady Mary Wortley Montagu - 
Her Life and Letters 
(1689-1762) 


CHAPTER I 


CHILDHOOD (1689-1703) 


Birth of Mary Pierrepont, after Lady Mary Wortley Montagu—Account 
of the Pierrepont family—Lady Mary’s immediate ancestors— 
Her father, Evelyn Pierrepont, succeeds to the Earldom of King- 
ston in 1690—The extinct marquisate of Dorchester revived in his 
favour—His marriage—Issue of the marriage—Death of his wife 
—Lady Mary stays with her grandmother, Mrs. Elizabeth Pierre- 
pont—Her early taste for reading—She learns Latin, and, presently, 
Italian—Encouraged in her literary ambitions by her uncle, 
William Feilding, and Bishop Burnet—Submits to the Bishop a 
translation of “ Encheiridion ’’ of Epictetus—An attractve child 
—A “ toast ’’’ at the Kit-Cat Club—Acts as hostess to her father. 


MARY PIERREPONT, afterwards Lady Mary Wortley Montagu, 
was born in May, 1689, and was baptised on the twenty-sixth 
day of that month at St. Paul’s, Covent Garden. In the 
register is the entry: ‘‘ Mary, daughter of Evelyn Pierrepoint, 
Esquire, and Lady Mary, his wife.”’ 

The event, it may be remarked, was not one of any con- 
siderable social interest, for the Hon. Evelyn Pierrepont was 
merely a younger son and remote from the succession to the 
Earldom of Kingston. 

The Pierreponts of Holme Pierrepont were a Nottingham- 
shire family of considerable antiquity, though of no particular 





24 Lady Mary Wortley Montagu : 


distinction. One Robert Pierrepont, who was born in 1584, 
the son of Sir Henry by Frances, sister of William, first Earl 
of Devonshire, was the first of the family upon whom a peerage 
was bestowed. He was created in 1627 Baron Pierrepont of 
Holme Pierrepont and Viscount Newark, and in the following 
year was elevated to the dignity of Earl of Kingston-upon- 
Hull, Co. York. A zealous royalist, he was in 1643 appointed 
Lieutenant-General of the King’s forces in the counties of 
Lincoln, Rutland, Huntingdon, Cambridge, and Norfolk, and 
soon after taking up this command was accidentally shot near 
Gainsborough, when being carried off in a pinnace as a prisoner 
to Hull by the Parliamentary Army. He married in 1601 
Gertrude, eldest daughter and co-heir of Sir William Reyner, 
of Orton Longueville, Co. Huntingdon. She survived her 
husband six years. 

The second Earl was Henry Pierrepont, who was born in 
1607. From 1628, when his father was given the earldom, he 
was known under the style of Viscount Newark. In that year 
he was elected Member of Parliament for Nottingham, and he 
represented that constituency until 1641, when he was sum- 
moned to the House of Lords in his father’s barony as Lord 
Pierrepont. He, too, was an ardent supporter of the King, 
and was a member of His Majesty’s Council of War at Oxford. 
He was created Marquess of Dorchester in 1645. After the 
Restoration he was in high favour at Whitehall. He was 
Commissioner of Claims at the Coronation of Charles II, and | 
in 1662 and again in 1673 he acted as Joint Commissioner of 
the office of Earl Marshal. He was twice married, but had no 
direct heirs, and on his death in 1680 the marquessate became 
extinct. 

The earldom passed to the family of the younger brother 
of the last holder. This was the great grandfather of Lady 
Mary, William Pierrepont, who deservedly earned the title 
of “ Wise William.’’ He sided with the Parliament, and during 
the Long Parliament, in the proceedings of which he took an 
active part, he sat for Great Wenlock. He was one of the 





Her Life and Letters 25 


Commissioners selected to treat with Charles in 1642, and after 
the failure to open negotiations he was anxious to retire from 
public affairs. However, he was persuaded not to resign, and 
in 1644 was appointed one of the Committee of both Kingdoms. 
He became a leader of the independent party, and did not 
always see eye to eye with Cromwell. He quarrelled with his 
party, disapproving of its attitude towards Purge’s Pride and 
the trial of the King. After this he took little part in politics, 
though the Protector sought, and he gave on occasions, his 
advice. In February, 1660, he was elected to the new Council 
of State at the head of the list, and in the Convention Parliament 
represented Nottingham. In the negotiations with Charles 
II he was a moderating influence. Afterwards, he retired into 
private life. He died in 1678 or 1679. His eldest son, Robert, 
who married Elizabeth, daughter of Sir John Evelyn, pre- 
deceased his father, dying in 1666, and the earldom passed to 
his eldest son, Robert, who died unmarried in 1682. The title 
then went to his next brother, William, who died without issue 
eight years later. 

A younger brother of Robert and William, Evelyn Pierre- 
pont, now succeeded as (fifth) earl. He was the father of Lady 
Mary. Born in 1665, he was returned to Parliament for East 
Retford in 1689, but his stay in the House of Commons was 
brief, for in the following year the peerage descended to him. 
In December, 1706, the higher dignity that had once been in 
his family was revived in his favour, and he was created Earl 
of Dorchester, with a special remainder, failing heirs male of 
his body, to his uncle Gervase Pierrepont, who had himself 
been raised to the peerage as Lord Pierrepont of Ardglass in 
Ireland and later was given the dignity of Lord Pierrepont of 
Hanslope in Buckinghamshire. Lord Pierrepont died in 1715, 
and both his titles became extinct. 

The Marquess married Mary, daughter of William Feilding, 
third Earl of Denbigh, by his first wife, Mary, sister of John, 
first Baron of Kingston, in the peerage of Ireland. Lady Mary 
was, therefore, a relation of the novelist, Henry Fielding, whose 





26 Lady Mary Wortley Montagu : 


surname was spelt differently because, he explained, his branch 
of the family was the only one that could spell correctly. 

Of this marriage, there was issue : 

(i.) William, who took the style of Viscount Newark until 
1706, and then was known as Earl of Kingston until his death 
in 1713, at the age of twenty-one. He had married before 1711 
Rachel, daughter of Thomas Baynton, of Little Charfield, 
Wilts, who outlived her husband eight years. There was a 
son, Evelyn, who succeeded to the peerage. 

(ii.) Lady Mary, the subject of this memoir. 

(iii.) Lady Frances, who in 1714 became the second wife 
of John Erskine, sixth or eleventh Earl of Mar; and 

(iv.) Lady Evelyn, who married John, second Baron, and 
afterwards first Earl Gower, and died in June, 1727. 

In the winter of 1697, when Lady Mary was eight years old, 
her mother died. After this, the little girl was allowed to run 
rather wild. Lord Kingston was very much a man about town 
and a gallant, and was too greatly occupied with his affairs 
and his parliamentary duties, which took him often from home, 
to concern himself about her education. In fact, before her 
mother’s death, it would seem that Lady Mary spent months at 
her grandmother’s, Mrs. Elizabeth Pierrepont, at her house at 
West Dean. When she was in her ninth year she returned to 
Holme Pierrepont, where, as she later complained, she was left 
‘“‘to the care of an old governess, who, though perfectly good 
and pious, wanted capacity.” 

Lady Mary early had a taste for books, and enjoyed to the 
full the library, where she no doubt read much that was good 
for her, anda good deal that wasnot. She read everything that 
she could lay her hands on, the old romances, poetry, and 
plays. One account has it that she was taught Greek and Latin 
by her brother’s tutor; but Sir Leslie Stephen was doubtful 
about the Greek and inclined to the belief that she taught 
herself Latin. Later, certainly, she taught herself Italian, and 
quoted Tasso in her letters. In her studies she was encouraged 
by her uncle, William Feilding, and also by Bishop Burnet, of 





Her Life and Letters 27 


whom she said many years later: ‘I knew him in my very 
early youth, and his condescension in directing a girl in her 
studies is an obligation I can never forget.”” She had literary 
aspirations, and just after her twenty-first birthday she sub- 
mitted to Burnet, with the following letter, a translation of 
“ Encheiridion’”’ of Epictetus from the Latin version. This will 
be found in the collected works. 
‘July °20; “1710. 
“My Lorp, 

“Your hours are so well employed, I hardly dare 
offer you this trifle to look over; but then, so well am I ac- 
quainted with the sweetness of temper which accompanies your 
learning, I dare ever assure myself of a pardon. You have 
already forgiven me greater impertinencies, and conde- 
scended yet further in giving me instructions and bestowing 
some of your minutes in teaching me. This surprising 
humility has all the effect it ought to have on my heart; I am 
sensible of the gratitude I owe to so much goodness, and how 
much Iam ever bound to be your servant. Here is the work 
of one week of my solitude—by the many faults in it your lord- 
ship will easily believe I spent no more time upon it; it was 
hardly finished when I was obliged to begin my journey, and I 
had not leisure to write it over again. You have it here without 
any corrections, with all its blots and errors: I endeavoured at 
no beauty of style, but to keep as literally as I could to the 
sense of the author. My only intention in presenting it, is to 
ask your lordship whether I have understood Epictetus ? 
The fourth chapter, particularly, 1 am afraid I have mistaken. 
Piety and greatness of soul set you above all misfortunes that 
can happen to yourself, and the calumnies of false tongues ; 
but that same piety which renders what happens to yourself 
indifferent to you, yet softens the natural compassion in your 
temper to the greatest degree of tenderness for the interests of 
the Church, and the liberty and welfare of your country: the 
steps that are now made towards the destruction of both, the 
apparent danger we are in, the manifest growth of injustice, 





28 Lady Mary Wortley Montagu : 


oppression, and hypocrisy, cannot do otherwise than give your 
lordship those hours of sorrow, which, did not your fortitude of 
soul, and reflections from religion and philosophy, shorten, would 
add to the national misfortunes, by injuring the health of so 
great a supporter of our sinking liberties. I ought to ask pardon 
for this digression ; it is more proper for me in this place to say 
something to excuse an address that looks so very presuming. 
My sex is usually forbid studies of this nature, and folly reckoned 
so much our proper sphere, we are sooner pardoned any excesses 
of that, than the least pretensions toreading or goodsense. We 
are permitted no books but such as tend to the weakening and 
effeminating of the mind. Our natural defects are every way 
indulged, and it is looked upon as in a degree criminal to im- 
prove our reason, or fancy we have any. We are taught to 
place all our art in adorning our outward forms, and permitted, 
without reproach, to carry that custom even to extravagancy, 
while our minds are entirely neglected, and, by disuse of 
reflections, filled with nothing but the trifling objects our 
eyes are daily entertained with. This custom, so long es- 
tablished and industriously upheld, makes it even ridiculous 
to go out of the common road, and forces one to find as many 
excuses, as if it were a thing altogether criminal not to play the 
fool in concert with other women of quality, whose birth and 
leisure only serve to render them the most useless and most 
worthless part of the creation. There is hardly a character in 
the world more despicable, or more liable to universal ridicule, 
than that of a learned woman ; those words imply, according 
to the received sense, a talking, impertinent, vain, and con- 
ceited creature. I believe nobody will deny that learning may 
have this effect, but it must be a very superficial degree of it. 
Erasmus was certainly aman of great learning, and good sense, 
and he seems to have my opinion of it, when he says Femina 
qui [sic] vere sapit, non videtur sibi sapere; contra, que cum 
nihil sapiat sibt videtur sapere, ea demum bis stulta est. The - 
Abbé Bellegarde gives a right reason for women’s talking over- 
much: they know nothing, and every outward object strikes 


Her Life and Letters 29 





their imagination, and produces a multitude of thoughts, which, 
if they knew more, they would know not worth their thinking 
of. I am not now arguing for an equality of the two sexes. 
I do not doubt God and nature have thrown us into an inferior 
rank, we are a lower part of the creation, we owe obedience and 
submission to the superior sex, and any woman who suffers her 
vanity and folly to deny this, rebels against the law of the 
Creator, and indisputable order of nature ; but there is a worse 
effect than this, which follows the careless education given to 
women of quality, its being so easy for any man of sense, that 
finds it either his interest or his pleasure, to corrupt them. 
The common method is, to begin by attacking their religion : 
they bring them a thousand fallacious arguments, which their 
excessive ignorance hinders them from refuting: and I speak 
now from my own knowledge and conversation among them, 
there are more atheists among the fine ladies than the loosest 
sort of rakes ; and the same ignorance that generally works out 
into excess of superstition, exposes them to the snares of any 
who have a fancy to carry them to t’other extreme. I have 
made my excuses already too long, and will conclude in the 
words of Erasmus :—Vulgus sentit quod lingua Latina non 
convemt femins, quia parum facit ad tuendam tllarum pundici- 
tiam, quoniam varum et insolitum est feminam scive Latinam ; 
attamen consuetudo omnium malarum rerum magistrva. Decorum 
est feminam in Germania nata [sic] discere Gallice, ut loquatur 
cum his qui sciunt Gallice ; cur igitur habetur indecorum discere 
Latine, ut quotidie confabuletur cum tot autoribus tam facundts, 
tam eruditis, tam sapientibus, tam fides consultoribus. Certe 
mht quantulumcunque cerebri est, malim in bonts studiis consu- 
mere, quam in precibus sine mente dictis, in pernociibus convivits, 
in exhauniendis, capacibus pateris, &c.”’ 


This was not the sort of letter that in the opening years of 
the eighteenth century even Bishops received from young ladies 
of rank, who usually took their pleasure in other and lighter 
ways. Lady Mary, however, loved to exercise her pen. She 





30 Lady Mary Wortley Montagu : 


later composed some imitations of Ovid, and tried her hand at 
one or two romances in the French manner. She thus acquired 
a facility of expression that stood her in good stead when she 
came to write those letters that constitute her principal claim 
to fame. 

Lady Mary was an attractive child, and her father was very 
proud of her, especially when she was in what may be called the 
kitten stage. The story is told that, when she was about eight 
years old, he named her as a “toast” at the Kit-Cat Club, and 
as she was not known to the majority of the members he 
sent for her, where, on her arrival, she was received with 
acclamation by the Whig wits there assembled. 

Sometimes Lady Mary in her girlhood stayed at Thoresby, 
and occasionally came up to her father’s London house, which 
was in Arlington Street, which visits, accepting the story told 
by her granddaughter, Lady Louisa Stuart, cannot have been 
an unmixed delight. “‘Some particulars, in themselves too 
insignificant to be worth recording, may yet interest the curious, 
by setting before them the manners of our ancestors,’ Lady 
Louisa says. ‘‘ Lord Dorchester, having no wife to do the 
honours of his table at Thoresby, imposed that task upon his 
eldest daughter, as soon as she had bodily strength for the office: 
which in those days required no small share. For this mistress 
of a country mansion was not only to invite—that is urge and 
tease—her company to eat more than human throats could 
conveniently swallow, but to carve every dish, when chosen, 
with her own hands. The greater the lady, the more indis- 
pensable the duty. Each joint was carried up in its turn, to 
be operated upon by her, and her alone; since the peers and 
knights on either hand were so far from being bound to offer 
their assistance, that the very master of the house, posted 
opposite her, might not act as her croupier, his department was 
to push the bottle after dinner. As for the crowd of guests, 
the most inconsiderable among them—the curate, or subaltern, 
or squire’s younger brother—if suffered through her neglect to 
help himself to a slice of the mutton placed before him, would 





Her Life and Letters 31 


have chewed it in bitterness and gone home an affronted man, 
half inclined to give a wrong vote at the next election. There 
were then professed carving-masters, who taught young ladies 
the art scientifically ; from one of whom Lady Mary said she 
took lessons three times a week that she might be perfect on 
her father’s public days, when, in order to perform her func- 
tions without interruption, she was forced to eat her own dinner 
alone an hour or two beforehand.”’ 








32 Lady Mary Wortley Montagu : 





CHAPTER II 
GIRLHOOD (1703-1710) 


Lady Mary makes the acquaintance of Edward Wortley Montagu— 
Montagu attracted by her looks and her literary gifts—Assists her 
in her studies—Montagu a friend of the leading men of letters of 
the day—Addison, Steele, Congreve, Vanbrugh, and others— 
The second volume of the Tatler dedicated to him by Steele— 
Montagu a staunch Whig—His paternal interest for Lady Mary 
does not endure—He becomes a suitor for her hand—Lady Mary’s 
devotion and respect for him—Her flirtations—She and Montagu 
correspond through the medium of his sister, Anne—Lady Mary’s 
mordant humour—Her delight in retailing society scandal—The 
death of Anne Wortley—Lady Mary and Montagu henceforth 
communicate direct—Her first letter to him. 


AT the age of fourteen the precocious Lady Mary, when on a 
visit to Wharncliffe Lodge, some thirty miles from Thoresby, 
made a conquest that was vastly to influence her life. The 
conquest was no less a person than Edward Wortley Montagu, 
son of Sidney Wortley Montagu, who was the second son of 
Edward, first Earl of Sandwich, the famous Admiral of Charles 
IJ. Sidney had taken the name of Wortley on his marriage to 
Anne, daughter of Sir Francis Wortley. To Sidney Wortley 
Montagu, of whom there is to-day little known, is an interesting 
reference in a letter from the Earl of Danby to his wife, dated 
from Kiveton, September 6, 1684: “‘ I have had Mr. Montague 
with me—my Lord Sandwich his son—who lives at Wortley, 
and calls himself by that name, and is really a very fine gentle- 
man and told me he was sorry that any of his relations—much 
more of his name—should have carried themselves so unjustly 
towards me, and he hoped I would not have the worse opinion 
of him for their ill-behaviour.”’ 





Lapy Mary WortTLEY MONTAGU. 


From a Picture by Sir Godfrey Kneller. 
De a2. 











Her Life and Letters 33 








Edward Wortley Montagu, who was then twenty-five, was 
already a person of some distinction. He was a good classical 
scholar, acquainted with modern languages, and versed in what 
his grand-daughter, Lady Louisa Stuart, styled “ polite litera- 
ture.’’ He was interested in the pretty, clever girl, and en- 
couraged her to talk to him of her reading and writing. ‘‘ When 
I was very young,” she said, as is recorded in the Anecdotes 
of the Rev. Joseph Spence, “I was a great admirer of Ovid’s 
‘Metamorphosis,’ and that was one of the reasons that set 
me upon the thoughts of stealing the Latin language. Mr. 
Wortley was the only person to whom I communicated my 
design, and he encouraged me in it. I used to study five or 
six hours a day for two years in my father’s library, and so got 
that language whilst everybody else thought I was reading 
nothing but novels and romances.”’ 

Montagu affected the company of men of letters. He was 
intimate with Addison, a close friend of Steele, and on terms 
with Congreve, Vanbrugh, and Garth, the author of The 
Dispensary. Steele, in fact, dedicated the second volume of 
the Tatler to him. 


“* SIR, 

“When I send you this Volume, I am rather to make 
a Request than a Dedication. I must desire, that if you think 
fit to throw away any Moments on it, you would not do it after 
reading those excellent Pieces with which you are usually 
conversant. The Images which you will meet with here, will 
be very feint, after the Perusal of the Greeks and Romans, who 
are your ordinary Companions. I must confess I am obliged to 
you for the Taste of many of their Excellencies, which I had not 
observed till you pointed them to me. I am very proud that 
there are some things in these Papers which I know you pardon, 
and it isno small Pleasure to have one’s Labours suffered by the 
Judgment of a Man who so well understands the true Charms 
of Eloquence and Poesie. But I direct this Address to you, 
not that I think I can entertain you with my Writings, but to 

C 








34 Lady Mary Wortley Montagu : 





thank you for the new Delight I have from your Conversation 
in those of other men. 

‘“May you enjoy a long Continuance of the true Relish of 
the Happiness Heaven hath bestowed on you. I knownot how 
to say a more affectionate Thing to you, than to wish you may 
be always what you are, and that you may ever think, as 1 know 


you now do, that you have a much larger Fortune than you 
want. I am, 


psevit 
‘* Your most Obedient and most Humble Servant, 
“TsAAC BICKERSTAFF.”’ 


Montagu was also interested in politics. He was a staunch 
Whig, and in favour with the leaders of his party. He sat in 
the House of Commons from 1705 to 1713 as member for 
Huntingdon, where there was family interest. It was not, how- 
ever, until after the accession of George I that he held office. 

At first, it may be, Montagu took some kind of paternal in- 
terestin Lady Mary. This attitude didnotlongendure. When 
the change in his feelings took place there is no means of know- 
ing. He does not seem to have been a passionate man, nor a 
very ardent lover, but there is no doubt that at this period he 
inspired the girl with a very real devotion and respect, even 
though perhaps her heart was not deeply engaged. 

Montagu would have had the girl find her pleasures exclusively 
in books and in his own conversation. She, at the age of 
twenty, on the other hand, was full of the joy of life and liked | 
the various social pleasures that came her way. Naturally, 
she tried the effect of her good looks and wit on men. In fact, 
she was fond of flirting, and as it must probably have been im- 
possible to flirt with Montagu, she indulged herself in that 
agreeable pastime with more than one other—to the great 
annoyance of that pompous prig of an admirer of hers. The 
following letter, dated September 5, 1709, written to Anne 
Wortley for her brother’s perusal, was clearly an endeavour to 
sooth away the man’s jealousy. 


Her Life and Letters 55 








“September 5, 1709. 

“My dear Mrs. Wortley, as she has the entire power of 
raising, can also, with a word, calm my passions. The kindness 
of your last recompenses me for the injustice of your former 
letter ; but you cannot sure be angry at my little resentment. 
You have read that a man who, with patience, hears himself 
called heretic, can never be esteemed a good Christian. Tobe 
capable of preferring the despicable wretch you mention to Mr. 
Wortley, is as ridiculous, if not as criminal, as forsaking the 
Deity to worship a calf. Don’t tell me any body ever had so 
mean an opinion of my inclinations ; ’tis among the number of 
those things I would forget. My tenderness is always built 
upon my esteem, and when the foundation perishes, it falls: 
I must own, I think it is so with every body—but enough of 
this : you tell me it was meant for raillery—was not the kind- 
ness meant sotoo? I fear Iam too apt to think what is amuse- 
ment designed in earnest—no matter, ‘tis for my repose to be 
deceived, and I will believe whatever you tell me. 

“ T should be very glad to be informed of a right method, or 
whether there is such a thing alone, but am afraid to ask the 
question. It may be reasonably called presumption in a girl to 
have her thoughts that way. You are the only creature that I 
have made my confidante in that case: I'll assure you, I call 
it the greatest secret of my life. Adieu, my dear, the post stays, 
my next shall be longer.”’ 


Lady Mary was probably more complaisant on paper than 
actually in her conduct of life. She desired male as well as 
female companionship; she liked the admiration and the flattery 
of men, and, no doubt, did her best to evoke it. It is strange, 
however, that with her beauty—for that she was in her early 
years beautiful has generally been accepted—she was not unduly 
attractive to men. It may be that her good looks brought 
young men to her feet, and that her tongue drove them away. 
In no age has a clever woman been very popular with the other 
sex, and in the early years of the eighteenth century, when girls 





36 Lady Mary Wortley Montagu : 


could do little more than read and write—and not always so 
much—wit such as hers and the readiness of reply with which she 
was gifted must have been a deterrent. What could the ordin- 
ary social butterfly think of a Lady Mary who had as a friend 
Mary Ansell, the author of a Serious Proposal to Ladies— 
what, though perhaps not one of them had read the book ? 

Still, there was enough levity in Lady Mary’s behaviour in 
society for her to think it desirable to make some explanation 
to Montagu. 


“{Indorsed ‘g April,’ 1711.] 

‘“T thought to return no answer to your letter, but I find 
I am not so wise as I thought myself. I cannot forbear fixing 
my mind a little on that expression, though perhaps the only 
insincere one in your whole letter—I would die to be secure of 
your heart, though but for a moment :—were this but true, 
what is there I would not do to secure you ? 

‘““T will state the case to you as plainly as I can; and then 
ask yourself if you use me well. I have shewed, in every 
action of my life, an esteem for you that at least challenges a 
grateful regard. I have trusted my reputation in your hands ; 
I have made no scruple of giving you, under my own hand, an 
assurance of my friendship. After all this, I exact nothing 
from you: if you find it inconvenient for your affairs to take 
so small a fortune, I desire you to sacrifice nothing to me; I 
pretend no tie upon your honour: but, in recompence for so 
clear and so disinterested a proceeding, must I ever receive 
injuries and ill usage ? 

“ T have not the usual pride of my sex ; I can bear being told 
I am in the wrong, but tell it me gently. Perhaps I have 
been indiscreet ; I came young into the hurry of the world; a 
great innocence and an undesigning gaiety may possibly have 
been construed coquetry and a desire of being followed, 
though never meant by me. I cannot answer for the [reflec- 
tions] that may be made on me: all who are malicious attack 
the careless and defenceless: I own myself to be both. I 





Her Life and Letters 37 


know not anything I can say more to shew my perfect desire 
of pleasing you and making you easy, than to proffer to be 
confined with you in what manner you please. Would any 
woman but me renounce all the world for one ? or would any 
man but you be insensible of such a proof of sincerity ? ” 


From an early age Lady Mary indulged her somewhat 
mordant humour, not less in her letters than in her conversation, 
and as that quality must have some subject upon which to 
exercise itself, she was generally on the look-out for some tit-bit 
of scandal which she could relate in her own inimitable manner. 


“ Next to the great ball, what makes the most noise is the 
marriage of an old maid, who lives in this street, without a 
portion, to a man of £7,000 per annum, and they say £40,000 
in ready money,” she wrote to Mrs. Hewet about the beginning 
of 1709. “‘ Her equipage and liveries outshine anybody’s in 
town. He has presented her with £3,000 in jewels ; and never 
was man more smitten with these charms that had lain invisible 
for these forty years; but, with all his glory, never bride had 
fewer enviers, the dear beast of a man is so filthy, frightful, 
odious, and detestable. I would turn away such a footman, 
for fear of spoiling my dinner, while he waited at table. They 
were married on Friday, and came to church en parade on 
Sunday. I happened to sit in the pew with them, and had the 
honour of seeing Mrs. Bride fall fast asleep in the middle of 
the sermon, and snore very comfortably ; which made several 
women in the church think the bridegroom not quite so ugly 
as they did before. Envious people say ‘twas all counterfeited 
to please him, but I believe that to be scandal ; for I dare swear, 
nothing but downright necessity could make her miss one word 
of the sermon. He professes to have married her for her 
devotion, patience, meekness, and other Christian virtues he 
observed in her ; his first wife (who has left no children) being 
very handsome, and so good natured as to have ventured her 
own salvation tosecure his. Hehas married this lady to have a 


38 Lady Mary Wortley Montagu : 


companion in that paradise where his first has given him a title. 
I believe I have given you too much of this couple ; but they 
are not to be comprehended in few words.” 


Here is another malicious story that appealed to Lady 
Mary’s wayward fancy. 


‘““Mrs. Braithwayte, a Yorkshire beauty,’ she wrote to the 
samecorrespondent in March,1712, ‘“‘who had been but two days 
married to a Mr. Coleman, ran out of bed en chemise, and her 
husband followed her in his, in which pleasant dress they ran 
as far as St. James’s Street, where they met with a chair, and 
prudently crammed themselves both into it, observing the rule 
of dividing the good and bad fortune of this life, resolved to run 
all hazards together, and ordered the chairmen to carry them 
both away, perfectly representing, both in love and nakedness, 
and want of eyes to see that they were naked, our first happy 
parents. Sunday last I had the pleasure of hearing the whole 
history from the lady’s own mouth.” 


Love-affairs, other people’s love-affairs anyhow, had an 
attraction for Lady Mary. ‘“ You talk of the Duke of Leeds,” 
she wrote. “I hear that he has placed his heroic love upon 
the bright charms of a pewterer’s wife; and, after a long 
amour, and many perilous adventures, has stolen the fair lady, 
which, in spite of his wrinkles and grandchild, persuade people 
of his youth and gallantry.’”’ The nobleman in question, Pefe- 
grine Osborne, second Duke of Leeds, was then fifty-six—which, 
after all, regarded from the standpoint of to-day, is not such a 
great age as is suggested by the story. 

If Montagu objected to the indiscretions of Lady Mary, it 
does not appear that he was in any hurry to get married to her. 
Of course, it may be—it is only fair to him to say—-that Lady 
Mary held him temporarily at bay, preferring the frivolities of 
those of her own age to the austere attentions of one who acted 
as if he might have been her father. 











Her Life and Letters 39 





For some years she and Montagu were apparently content 
with writing long letters to each other when they were not both 
in town. When the correspondence started is uncertain. The 
first letter of Lady Mary that has been preserved is dated 
Thoresby, May 2, 1709; but there can be no doubt that they had 
been in regular communication before then. 

It is specially to be noted that the earlier letters of Lady 
Mary were addressed to Montagu’s sister, Anne. It is evident, 
however, that they were definitely written for his perusal, and 
it is equally clear that Anne’s replies were inspired, and some- 
times, if not always, drafted by him. This practice continued 
until the death of Anne Wortley in March, 1710. Yet there 
seems to have been no reason for this camouflage. In 1709 
Lady Mary was twenty years of age, and Montagu was a very 
eligible partz. 

The respectful, highfalutin gallantry that is the key-note 
of the correspondence recalls the correspondence that presently 
was exchanged between Henrietta Howard, Countess of Suffolk, 
and the octogenarian Earl of Peterborough. 

Some typical passages from the letters to ‘‘ My dear Mrs. 
Wortley ” may be given—it should be mentioned that it was 
the social custom of the day to address as “ Mrs.”’ maiden ladies 
as well as married women. 


“ Thoresby, August 8, 1700. 

‘“T know no pretence I have to your good opinion but my 
hearty desiring it ; I wish I had that imagination you talk of, 
to render me a fitter correspondent for you, who can write so 
well on every thing. I am nowso much alone, I have leisure 
to pass whole days in reading, but am not at all proper for so 
delicate an employment as choosing you books. Your own 
fancy will better direct you. My study at present is nothing 
but dictionaries and grammars. I am trying whether it be 
possible to learn without a master ; I am not certain (and dare 
hardly hope) I shall make any great progress; but I find the 
study so diverting I am not only easy, but pleased with the 





4O Lady Mary Wortley Montagu : 


solitude that indulges it. I forget there is such a place as 
London, and wish for no company but yours. You see, my 
dear, in making my pleasures consist of these unfashionable 
diversions, I am not of the number who cannot be easy out of 
the mode. I believe more follies are committed out of com- 
plaisance to the world, than in following our own inclinations— 
Nature is seldom in the wrong, custom always ; it is with some 
regret I follow it in all the impertinencies of dress; the com- 
pliance is so trivial it comforts me ; but I am amazed to see it 
consulted even in the most important occasions of our lives ; 
and that people of good sense in other things can make their 
happiness consist in the opinions of others, and sacrifice every 
thing in the desire of appearing in fashion. I call all people 
who fall in love with furniture, clothes, and equipage, of this 
number, and I look upon them as no less in the wrong than when 
they were five years old, and doated on shells, pebbles, and 
hobby-horses: I believe you will expect this letter to be dated 
from the other world, for sure I am you never heard an inhabi- 
tant of this talk so before. I suppose you expect, too, I should 
conclude with begging pardon for this extreme tedious and very 
nonsensical letter ; quite contrary, I think you will be obliged 
to me for it. I could not better show my great concern for 
your reproaching me with neglect I knew myself innocent of, 
than proving myself mad in three pages.” 


“ August 21, 1709. 

“T am infinitely obliged to you, my dear Mrs. Wortley, for 
the wit, beauty, and other fine qualities, you so generously 
bestow upon me. Next to receiving them from Heaven, you 
are the person from whom I would chuse to receive gifts and 
graces: I am very well satisfied to owe them to your own 
delicacy of imagination, which represents to you the idea of a 
fine lady, and you have good nature enough to fancy I am she. 
All this is mighty well, but you do not stop there ; imagination 
is boundless. After giving me imaginary wit and beauty, you 
give me imaginary passions, and you tell me I’m in love: if I 











Her Life and Letters AI 





am, ‘tis a perfect sin of ignorance, for I don’t so much as know 
the man’s name: I have been studying these three hours, 
and cannot guess who you mean. I passed the days of Notting- 
ham races, [at] Thoresby, without seeing or even wishing to see 
one of the sex. Now, if I am in love, I have very hard fortune 
to conceal it so industriously from my own knowledge, and yet 
discover it so much to other people. ’Tis against all form to 
have such a passion as that, without giving one sigh for the 
matter. Pray tell me the name of him I love, that I may (accord- 
ing to the laudable custom of lovers) sigh to the woods and 
groves hereabouts, and teach it to the echo. You see, being I 
am [szc] in love, I am willing to be so in order and rule: I 
have been turning over God knows how many books to look 
for precedents. Recommend an example to me; and, above 
all, let me know whether ’tis most proper to walk in the woods, 
encreasing the winds with my sighs, or to sit by a purling 
stream, swelling the rivulet with my tears ; may be, both may 
do well in their turns :—but to be a minute serious, what do 
you mean by this reproach of inconstancy ? I confess you give 
me several good qualities I have not, and I am ready to thank 
you for them, but then you must not take away those few I 
have. No, I will never exchange them; take back the beauty 
and wit you bestow upon me, leave me my own mediocrity of 
agreeableness and genius, but leave me also my sincerity, my 
constancy and my plain dealing; ’tis all I have to recommend 
me to the esteem either of others or myself. How should I 
despise myself if I could think I was capable of either incon- 
stancy or deceit! I know not how I may appear to other 
people, nor how much my face may belie my heart, but I know 
that I never was or can be guilty of dissimulation or incon- 
stancy—you will think this vain, but ’tis all that I pique myself 
upon. Tell me you believe me and repent of your harsh cen- 
sure. Tell it me in pity to my uneasiness, for you are one of 
those few people about whose good opinion I am in pain. | 
have always took so little care to please the generality of the 
world, that Iam never mortified or delighted by its reports 








42 Lady Mary Wortley Montagu : 


which is a piece of stoicism born with me ; but I cannot be one > 
minute easy while you think ill of 
“Your faithful— 
“This letter is a good deal grave, and, like other grave things, 
dull; but I won’t ask pardon for what I can’t help.” 


Was the sentiment expressed in the following letter, 
written about the same time as that printed above, intended for 
Anne or her brother, or both ? 


“When I said it cost nothing to write tenderly, I believe I 
spoke of another sex ; Iam sure not of myself: ‘tis not in my 
power (I would to God it was !) to hide a kindness where I have 
one, or dissemble it where [havenone. I cannot help answering 
your letter this minute, and telling you I infinitely love you, 
though, it may be, you'll call the one impertinence, and the 
other dissimulation ; but you may think what you please of me, 
I must eternally think the same things of you.” 


Lady Mary was occasionally wearisome owing to the 
reiteration of the assurance that she believed her letters to be 
dull, the more so as she certainly was conscious of the skill 
with which she composed them. “‘ What do you mean by com- 
plaining I never write to you in the quiet situation of mind 
I do to other people ?”’ she asks Anne Wortley. “‘ My dear, 
people never write calmly, but when they write indifferently.” 


After a letter dated September 5, 1709, a passage from which 
has been printed here, there is a break in the (preserved) 
correspondence. In the spring of the following year Anne 
Wortley died, and Lady Mary, on March 28, paid tribute to her . 
departed friend, addressing herself for the first time direct to 
Montagu. 


‘Perhaps you'll be surprized at this letter; I have had 
many debates with myself before I could resolve on it. I 








Her Life and Letters 43 


know it is not acting in form, but I do not look upon you as 
I do upon the rest of the world, and by what I do for you, 
you are not to judge my manner of acting with others. You 
are brother to a woman I tenderly loved; my protestations 
of friendship are not like other people’s, I never speak but what 
I mean, and when I say I love, ’tis for ever. I had that real 
concern for Mrs. Wortley, I look with some regard on every 
one that is related toher. This and my long acquaintance with 
you may in some measure excuse what Iam now doing. Iam 
surprized at one of the ‘Tatlers’ you send me; is it possible 
to have any sort of esteem for a person one believes capable of 
having such trifling inclinations? Mr. Bickerstaff has very 
wrong notions of our sex. I can say there are some of us that 
despise charms of show, and all the pageantry of greatness, 
perhaps with more ease than any of the philosophers. In 
contemning the world, they seem to take pains to contemn it ; 
we despise it, without taking the pains to read lessons of 
morality to make us do it. At least I know I have always 
looked upon it with contempt, without being at the expense 
of one serious reflection to oblige me to it. Icarry the matter 
yet farther; was I to choose of two thousand pounds a 
year or twenty thousand, the first would be my choice. There is 
something of an unavoidable embarras in making what is 
called a great figure in the world; [it] takes off from the 
happiness of life; I hate the noise and hurry inseparable 
from great estates and titles, and look upon both as blessings 
that ought only to be given to fools, for ’tis only to them that 
they are blessings. The pretty fellows you speak of, I own 
entertain me sometimes; but is it impossible to be diverted 
with what one despises? I can laugh at a puppet-show ; at 
the same time I know there is nothing in it worth my attention 
or regard. General notions are generally wrong. Ignorance 
and folly are thought the best foundations for virtue, as if not 
knowing what a good wife is was necessary to make one so. 
I confess that can never be my way of reasoning ; as I always 
forgive an injury when I think it not done out of malice, I 





44 Lady Mary Wortley Montagu : 





can never think myself obliged by what is done without 
design.” 


Lady Mary, who was now one-and-twenty, was no bread- 
and-butter miss. She knew her mind and had the gift to 
express herself,and in this same letter she very prettily rebukes 
her laggard lover. 


“Give me leave to say it, (I know it sounds vain,) I know 
how to make a man of sense happy; but then that man must 
resolve to contribute something towards it himself. I have so 
much esteem for you, I should be very sorry tohear you was 
unhappy ; but for the world I would not be the instrument of 
making you so; which (of the humour you are) is hardly to be 
avoided if I am your wife. You distrust me—I can neither 
be easy, nor loved, where I am distrusted. Nor do I believe 
your passion for me is what you pretend it; at least I am sure 
was I in love I could not talk as you do. Few women would 
have spoke so plainly as I have done; but to dissemble is 
among the things I never do. I take more pains to approve 
my conduct to myself than to the world ; and would not have 
to accuse myself of a minute’s deceit. I wish I loved you 
enough to devote myself to be for ever miserable, for the 
pleasure of a day or two’s happiness. I cannot resolve upon 
it. You must think otherwise of me, or not at all.” 

“T don’t enjoin you to burn this letter,’’ she said in con- 
clusion. “‘I know you will. ’Tis the first I ever writ to one 
of your sex, and shall be the last. You must never expect 
another. I resolve against all correspondence of the kind— 
my resolutions are seldom made and never broken.” 


Whatever happened to most of Lady Mary’s resolutions, 
this one, at least, was not kept. Actually, Lady Mary was not 
quite so emancipated at this time of her life as she may have 
imagined. She never sent a letter, except in fear and trembling. 





Her Life and Letters 45 





“T hazard a great deal if it falls into other hands, and I write 
for all that,’’ was her constant cry. Yet, there was nothing in 
the correspondence, save the fact of it, to offend even a most 
austere maiden aunt of the day. 

The correspondence, of course, continued. The lovers, if 
so they can be called, now indulged in a slightly acid academic 
discussion, or rather a number of slightly acid academic dis- 
cussions, about marriage. It is evident that Montagu held 
strong views as to the duty of a wife ; so undoubtedly did Lady 
Mary—only, the trouble was, the views were by no means 
identical. If he were determined to set himself up as the strong 
loquacious man, his fiancée was certainly not prepared meekly 
to obey his behests in silence. They indulged in a somewhat 
candid examination of each other’s character—and of their 
own. It is really rather amusing, this careful cold-blooded 
dissection of their feelings. Itisasafe guess that at this game 
Lady Mary scored heavily. 


“T wish, with all my soul, I thought as you do,” she wrote 
on April 25,1710. ‘“‘I endeavour to convince myself by your 
arguments, and am sorry my reason is so obstinate, not to be 
deluded into an opinion, that ‘tis impossible a man can esteem 
a woman. I suppose I should then be very easy at your 
thoughts of me; I should thank you for the wit and beauty 
you give me, and not be angry at the follies and weaknesses ; 
but, to my infinite affliction, I can believe neither one nor 
t’other. One part of my character is not so good, nor t’other 
so bad, as you fancy it. Should we ever live together, you 
would be disappointed both ways; you would find an easy 
equality of temper you do not expect, and a thousand faults 
you do not imagine. You think, if you married me, I should 
be passionately fond of you one month, and of somebody else 
the next: neither would happen. I can esteem, I can be a 
friend, but I don’t know whether I can love. Expect all that 
is complaisant and easy, but never what is fond, in me. You 
judge very wrong of my heart, when you suppose me capable 


46 Lady Mary Wortley Montagu : 


of views of interest, and that anything could oblige me to 
flatter any body. Was I the most indigent creature in the 
world, I should answer you as I do now, without adding or 
diminishing. I am incapable of art, and ’tis because I will not 
be capable of it. Could I deceive one minute, I should never 
regain my own good opinion ; and who could bear to live with 
one they despised ? If you can resolve to live with a com- 
panion that will have all the deference due to your superiority 
of good sense, and that your proposals can be agreeable to those 
on whom I depend, I have nothing to say against them.” 





Her Life and Letters 47 








CHAPTER III 
COURTSHIP, ELOPEMENT, AND MARRIAGE (1710-1712) 


A lengthy courtship—Montagu a laggard lover—Lady Mary and 
Montagu exchange views on married life—Montagu proposes for 
her to Lord Dorchester—Dorchester refuses, since Montagu will not 
make settlements—Montagu’s views on settlements expressed 
(by Steele) in the Zatlev—Although not engaged, the young people 
continue to correspond—Lord Dorchester, produces another suitor 
for his daughter—She consents to an engagement—The prepara- 
tions for the wedding—She confides the whole story to Montagu— 
She breaks off the engagement—She and Montagu decide to elope 
—She runs up to London—Marriage—Lady Mary’s diary destroyed 
by her sister, Lady Frances Pierrepont. 


AFTER seven years or so of acquaintance, matters at last looked 
like coming to a head. It would appear that Montagu, 
tentatively at least, had put the question, because Lady Mary 
gives her views as to the life they should lead after marriage. . 
She is not averse from travelling; she has no objection to 
leaving London; in fact, she would be willing to spend a 
few months in the country, if it so pleased him. It is all so 
extraordinarily unloverlike. There is too much philosophy 
about it. Love does not see so clearly. 


“Where people are tied for life, ’tis their mutual interest 
not to grow weary of one another,” she wrote on April 25, 1710. 
“Tf I had all the personal charms that I want, a face is too 
slight a foundation for happiness. You would be soon tired 
with seeing every day the same thing. Where you saw nothing 
else, you would have leisure to remark all the defects ; which 
would increase in proportion as the novelty lessened, which is 


48 Lady Mary Wortley Montagu : 











always a great charm. I should have the displeasure of seeing 
a coldness, which, though I could not reasonably blame you for, 
being involuntary, yet it would render me uneasy; and the 
more, because I know a love may be revived which absence, 
inconstancy, or even infidelity, has extinguished ; but there is 
no returning from a dégout given by satiety.”’ 


Perhaps Lady Mary believed that, while it is well to hope 
for the best, it is sound policy to prepare for the worst. 

Montagu may have found some comfort in the lady’s assur- 
ance that if she had a choice between two thousand a year 
or twenty thousand a year she would choose the smaller 
income. 

An apartment in London would satisfy Lady Mary. She 
would not choose to live in a crowd, but would like to have a 
small circle of agreeable people—she was very precise as to her 
desires: actually she wants to see eight or nine pleasant folk. 
She does not believe that she can find entire happiness in 
solitude, not even (or perhaps especially not) in a solitude 
of two; and she is at least as sure that he would not 
either. Anyhow she has not the slightest intention of taking 
the chance. 

It becomes increasingly clear that she had had about 
enough of this epistolary philandering, and she indicated this 
in no uncertain manner. “I will never think of anything 
without the consent of my family,” she wrote. “‘ Make no 
answer to this, if you can like me on myownterms. ’Tisnotto 
me you must make the proposals; if not, to what purpose is 
our correspondence ? ”’ 

And now comes a touch of the spur: ‘‘ However, preserve 
me your friendship, which I think of with a great deal of 
pleasure. If ever you see me married, I flatter myself you'll 
see a conduct you would not be sorry your wife should 
imitate.” 

Even this did not bring Montagu to the point of asking Lord 
Dorchester for the hand of his daughter. 





Rtas tees 


EAE IREOLE 


re 





Pr anal 


rag 


Ws 


ee 


ex, 
i 


ica. : 
i Rese mor 
SR ain Sno” 


Lapy Mary PIERREPONT. 
1710. 


Engraved from a Miniature. 


Streeter, ‘ ae 
ohare ema ueseamemasesesrana oem” 











Her Life and Letters 49 


The correspondence, however, still continued, and soon they 
were hard at it again. 


“ Kindness, you say, would be your destruction,’ she 
wrote in August, 1710. ‘‘In my opinion, this is something 
contradictory to some other expressions. People talk of being 
in love just as widows do of affliction. Mr. Steele has observed, 
in one of his plays,the most passionate among them have always 
calmness enough to drive a hard bargain with the upholders. I 
never knew a lover that would not willingly secure his interest 
as well as his mistress ; or, if one must be abandoned, had not 
the prudence (among all his distractions) to consider, a woman 
was but a woman, and money was a thing of more real merit 
than the whole sex put together. Your letter is to tell me, you 
should think yourself undone if you married me; but if I 
would be so tender as to confess I should break my heart if you 
did not, then you’d consider whether you would or no ; but yet 
you hoped you should not. I take this to be the right inter- 
pretation of—even your kindness can’t destroy me of a sudden— 
I hope I am not in your power—I would give a good deal to be 
satisfied, &c. 

“As to writing—that any woman would do that thought 
she writ well. Now I say, no woman of common sense would. 
At best, ’tis but doing a silly thing well, and I think it is much 
better not to doasilly thing at all. You compare it to dressing. 
Suppose the comparison just : perhaps the Spanish dress would 
become my face very well; yet the whole town would condemn 
me for the highest extravagance if I went to court in it, though 
it improved me toa miracle. There are a thousand things, not 
ill in themselves, which custom makes unfit to be done. This is 
to convince you I am so far from applauding my own conduct, 
my conscience flies in my face every time I think on’t. The 
generality of the world have a great indulgence to their own 
follies: without being a jot wiser than my neighbours, I have 
the peculiar misfortune to know and condemn all the wrong 


things I do. 
D 





50 Lady Mary Wortley Montagu : 


“You beg to know whether I would not be out of humour. 
The expression is modest enough ; but that is not what you 
mean. In saying I could be easy, I have already said I should 
not be outof humour: but you would have me say I am violently 
in love ; that is, finding you think better of me than you desire, 
you would have me give you a just cause to contemn me. I 
doubt much whether there is a creature in the world humble 
enough to do that. I should not think you more unreasonable 
if you was in love with my face, and asked me to disfigure it to 
make you easy. I have heard of some nuns that made use of 
that expedient to secure their own happiness ; but, amongst all 
the popish saints and martyrs, I never read of one whose charity 
was sublime enough to make themselves deformed, or ridicu- 
lous, to restore their lovers to peace and quietness. In short, 
if nothing can content you but despising me heartily, I am 
afraid I shall be always so barbarous to wish you may esteem me 
as long as you live.” 


At last Montagu formally approached Lord Dorchester, who 
had no objection whatever to him as a suitor for the hand of 
Lady Mary. They could not come to terms in the matter of 
settlements. Dorchester demanded that the estates should be 
put into entail. Also he desired that his future son-in-law should 
provide a town residence for Lady Mary. This did not seem 
unreasonable, but Montagu did not see his way to agree to 
them. He was willing enough to make all proper provision 
for his wife, but he declined absolutely to settle his landed 
property upon ason who, as he put it, for aught he knew, might 
prove unworthy to inherit it, who might be a spendthrift, an 
idiot, or a villain—as a matter of fact, the only son of the mar- 
riage turned out most things he should not. Anyhow, Montagu 
held strong views on the subject, and these he expounded to 
Richard Steele, who presented them in No. 223 of the Tatler 
(September 12, I7I0). 


“ That this method of making settlements was first invented 





Her Life and Letters 51 


by a griping lawyer, who made use of the covetous tempers of 
the parents of each side, to force two young people into these 
vile measures of diffidence for no other end, but to increase the 
skins of parchment, by which they were put into each other’s 
possession out of each other’s power. The law of our country 
has given an ample and generous provision for the wife, even 
the third of her husband’s estate, and left to her good-humour 
and his gratitude the expectation of farther provision, but the 
fantastical method of going farther, with relation to the heirs, 
has a foundation in nothing but pride, and folly : for as all men 
with their children as like themselves, and as much better as 
they can possibly, it seems monstrous that we should give out 
of ourselves the opportunities of rewarding and discouraging 
them according to their defects. The wife institution has no 
more sense in it, than if a man should begin a deed with ‘ Where- 
as no man living knows how long he shall continue to be a 
reasonable creature, or an honest man, and whereas I.B. 
am going to enter into the state of matrimony with Mrs. D., 
therefore I shall from henceforth make it indifferent to me 
whether from this time forward I shall beafoolorknave. And 
therefore, in full and perfect health of body, and a sound mind, 
not knowing which of my children will prove better or worse, I 
give to my first-born, be he perverse, ungrateful, impious, or 
cruel, the lump and bulk of my estate, and leave one year’s 
purchase only to each of my younger children, whether they 
shall be brave or beautiful, modest or honourable, from the 
time of the date hereof, wherein I resign my senses, and 
hereby promise to employ my judgment no farther in the dis- 
tribution of my worldly goods from the date hereof, hereby 
farther confessing and covenanting, that I am henceforth 
married, and dead in law... .” 

“ How strangely men are sometimes partial to themselves, 
appears by the rapine of him, that has a daughter’s beauty 
under his direction. He will make noscruple of using it to force 
from her lover as much of his estate, as is worth ten thousand 
pounds, and at the same time, as a justice on the bench, will 





52 Lady Mary Wortley Montagu : 


spare no pains to get a man hanged that has taken but a horse 
from him. 

“Tt is to be hoped that the legislature will in due time take 
this kind of robbery into consideration, and not suffer men to 
prey upon each other when they are about making the most 
solemn league, and entering into the strictest bonds. The only 
sure remedy is to fix a certain rate on every woman’s fortune, 
one price for that of a maid, and another for that of a widow: 
for it is of infinite advantage, that there should be no frauds or 
uncertainties in the sale of our women.” 


Unless Montagu were tactless beyond the general, the position 
as regards himself and Lord Dorchester must indeed have been 
hopeless before he inspired the paper in the Tatler on settle- 
ments. Anyhow, Montagu, who was used to having his way, 
and was probably very cross at being thwarted on this occasion, 
would not yield a step; and Lord Dorchester maintained his 
attitude that philosophic theories were all very well in their 
way, but he would not sanction a marriage that involved the 
risk of his grandchildren being left beggars. 

Lady Mary was powerless in the matter, but, although her 
father said there was no engagement between her and Montagu, 
the young people continued their correspondence with unabated 
vigour. 


“Tam going to comply with your request, and write with all 
the plainness I am capable of,” she replied in November, 1710, 
to one of Montagu’s effusions. ‘‘I know what may be said 
upon such a proceeding, but am sure you will not say it. Why 
should you always put the worst construction upon my words ? 
Believe me what you will, but do not believe I can be un- 
generous or ungrateful. I wish I could tell you what answer 
you will receive from some people, or upon what terms. If 
my opinion could sway, nothing should displease you. Nobody 
ever was so disinterested asIam. I would not have to reproach 
myself (I don’t suppose you would) that I had any way 


Her Life and Letters 53 


made you uneasy in your circumstances. Let me beg you (which 
I do with the utmost sincerity) only to consider yourself in 
this affair ; and, since I am so unfortunate to have nothing in 
my own disposal, do not think I have any hand in making 
settlements. People in my way are sold like slaves; and I 
cannot tell what price my master will put on me. If you 
do agree, I shall endeavour to contribute, as much as lies in 
my power, to your happiness. I so heartily despise a great 
figure, I have no notion of spending money so foolishly ; though 
one had a great deal to throw away. If this breaks off, I shall 
not complain of you: and as, whatever happens, I shall still 
preserve the opinion you have behaved yourself well. Let me 
entreat you, if I have committed any follies, to forgive them ; 
and be so just to think I would not do an ill thing.” 


Shortly afterwards, Lady Mary wrote again to Montagu. 
‘“ T have tried to write plainly,” she said ; and she did not have 
to reproach herself with failure. It had now come to a 
struggle for mastery, and she would not yield a foot of her 
ground. 


“Indeed I do not at all wonder that absence, and variety of 
new faces, should make you forget me; but I am a little 
surprised at your curiosity to know what passes in my heart 
(a thing wholly insignificant to you), except you propose to 
yourself a piece of ill-natured satisfaction, in finding me very 
much disquieted. Pray which way would you see into my 
heart? You can frame no guesses about it from either my 
speaking or writing ; and, supposing I should attempt to show 
it you, I know no other way. 

‘““T begin to be tired of my humility: I have carried my 
complaisances to you farther than I ought. You make new 
scruples ; you have a great deal of fancy ; and your distrusts 
being all of your own making, are more immovable than if 
there was some real ground for them. Our aunts and grand- 
mothers always tell us that men are a sort of animals, that, if 





54 Lady Mary Wortley Montagu : 





even they are constant, ’tis only where they are ill used. ’Twas 
a kind of paradox I could never believe: experience has 
taught me the truth of it. You are the first I ever had a 
correspondence with, and I thank God I have done with it 
for all my life. You needed not to have told me you are not 
what you have been: one must be stupid not to find a dif- 
ference in your letters. You seem, in one part of your last, to 
excuse yourself from having done me any injury in point of 
fortune. Do I accuse you of any ? 

“ Thave not spirits to dispute any longer with you. You say 
you are not yet determined: let me determine for you, and 
save you the trouble of writing again. Adieu for ever! make 
no answer. I wish, among the variety of acquaintance, you 
may find some one to please you ; and can’t help the vanity of 
thinking, should you try them all, you won't find one that will 
be so sincere in their treatment, though a thousand more 
deserving, and every one happier. ‘Tis a piece of vanity and 
injustice I never forgive in a woman, to delight to give pain ; 
what must I think of a man that takes pleasure in making me 
uneasy ? After the folly of letting you know it is in your 
power, I ought in prudence to let this go no farther, except I 
thought you had good nature enough never to make use of that 
power. I have no reason to think so: however, I am willing, 
you see, to do you the highest obligation ’tis possible for me 
to do; that is, to give you a fair occasion of being rid of 


3) 


Me. 


There is now another break in the (preserved) correspon- 
dence until the end of February, 1711, and then Lady Mary, 
writing with more than a tinge of bitterness, broke off all 
relations with him—or, at least, affected to do so. 


‘‘T intended to make no answer to your letter ; it was some- 
thing very ungrateful, and I resolved to give over all thoughts 
of you. I could easily have performed that resolve some time 
ago, but then you took pains to please me; now you have 


Her Life’and Letters 55 


brought me to esteem you, you make use of that esteem to 
give me uneasiness; and I have the displeasure of seeing I 
esteem a man that dislikes me. Farewell then: since you 
will have it so, I renounce all the ideas I have so long flattered 
myself with, and will entertain my fancy no longer with the 
imaginary pleasure of pleasing you. How much wiser are all 
those women I have despised than myself! In placing their 
happiness in trifles, they have placed it in what is attainable. 
I fondly thought fine clothes and gilt coaches, balls, operas, 
and public adoration, rather the fatigues of life ; and that true 
happiness was justly defined by Mr. Dryden (pardon the 
romantic air of repeating verses), when he says, 


‘Whom Heav’n would bless it does from pomps remove 
And makes their wealth in privacy and love.’ 


These notions had corrupted my judgment as much as Mrs. 
Biddy Tipkin’s. According to this scheme, I proposed to pass 
my life with you. I yet do you the justice to believe, if any 
man could have been contented with this manner of living, it 
would have been you. Your indifference to me does not 
hinder me from thinking you capable of tenderness, and the 
happiness of friendship ; but I find it is not to me you'll ever 
have them ; you think me all that is detestable ; you accuse 
me of want of sincerity and generosity. To convince you of 
your mistake, I’ll show you the last extremes of both. 
“While I foolishly fancied you loved me, (which I confess I 
had never any great reason for, more than that I wished it,) 
there is no condition of life I could not have been happy in 
with you, so very much I liked you—I may say loved, since 
it is the last thing I’ll ever say to you. This is telling you 
sincerely my greatest weakness; and now I will oblige you 
with a new proof of generosity—I’ll never see you more. I 
shall avoid all public places ; and this is the last letter I shall 
send. Ifyou write, be not displeased if I send it back unopened. 
I force my inclinations to oblige yours; and remember 
that you have told me I could not oblige you more than by 





56 Lady Mary Wortley Montagu : 


refusing you. Had I intended ever to see you again, I durst 
not have sent this letter. Adieu.’ 


The above letter was evidently sent in a fit of pique. 
Certainly the position must have been almost unbearable to a 
young woman of spirit. Here was Lady Mary, in her twenty- 
second or twenty-third year, for all practical purposes be- 
trothed, and her father and her lover quarrelling over settle- 
ments. Her friends were all getting married and having 
establishments of their own, and she more or less in disgrace, 
living at one or other of her father’s houses. 

Nothing came of her announcement that she desired no 
further relation with Montagu. She could not bring herself 
definitely to break with Montagu, and he would neither wed her 
nor give her up. The correspondence continued with unabated 
vigour. 


“‘T amin pain about the letter Isent you this morning,”’ she 
wrote in March, 1911. “I fear you should think, after what I 
have said, you cannot, in point of honour, break off with me. 
Be not scrupulous on that article, nor affect to make me break 
first, to excuse your doing it. I would owe nothing but to 
inclination : if you do not love me, I may have the less esteem 
of myself, but not of you: I am not of the number of those 
women that have the opinion of their persons Mr. Bayes had of 
his play, that ’tis the touchstone of sense, and they are to frame 
their judgment of people’s understanding according to what 
they think of them. 

“You may have wit, good humour, and good nature, and 
not like me. I allow a great deal for the inconstancy of man- 
kind in general, and my own want of merit in particular. But 
’tis a breach, at least, of the two last, to deceive me. I amsin- 
cere: I shall be sorry if I am not now what pleases; but if I 
(as I could with joy) abandon all things to the care of pleasing 
you, I am then undone if I do not succeed.—Be generous.”’ 


It was about this time that she confided her troubles to 


Her Life and Letters 57 


Mrs. Hewet. “ At present, my domestic affairs go on so ill, I 
want spirits to look round,” she wrote. ‘“‘ IT have gotacold that 
disables my eyes and disorders me every other way. Mr. Mason 
has ordered me blooding, to which I have submitted, after long 
contestation. You see how stupid Iam; I entertain you with 
discourses of physic, but I have the oddest jumble of disagree- 
able things in my head that ever plagued poor mortals; a 
great cold, a bad peace, people I love in disgrace, sore eyes, the 
horrid prospect of a civil war, and the thought of a filthy potion 
to take. I believe nobody ever had such a mélange before.’ 


The unsatisfactory situation, apparently, might have con- 
tinued indefinitely, for, even if Montagu had been more pressing, 
Lady Mary, in spite of her independent attitude, was most 
reluctant, indeed, almost determined, not to marry without her 
father’s consent. 

In the early summer of 1712, however, Lord Dorchester 
created a crisis. Thinking, perhaps, that his daughter might 
one day get out of hand and, in despair, defy him, he decided 
to find her a husband other than Montagu. At first, from a 
sense of weariness and from filial duty, Lady Mary inclined to 
obey the parental injunction—to her father’s great delight. 
All the preparations for the wedding were put in train—then, 
ultimately, Lady Mary declared that she could not and would 
not go through with it on any terms. Who the bridegroom was 
she does not mention, but, in a manner somewhat involved, she 
in a letter in July, 1912, confided the whole story to Montagu. 


“ T am going to write you a plain long letter. What I have 
already told you is nothing but the truth. I have no reason 
to believe I am going to be otherwise confined than by my 
duty ; but I, that know my own mind, know that is enough 
to make me miserable. I see all the misfortune of marrying 
where it is impossible to love ; I am going to confess a weak- 
ness may perhaps add to your contempt of me. I wanted 
courage to resist at first the will of my relations; but, as every 


58 Lady Mary Wortley Montagu : 


day added to my fears, those, at last, grew strong enough to 
make me venture the disobliging them. A harsh word damps 
my spirits to a degree of silencing all I have to say. I knew 
the folly of my own temper, and took the method of writing to 
the disposer of me. I said everything in this letter I thought 
proper to move him, and proffered, in atonement for not 
marrying whom he would, never to marry at all. He did not 
think fit to answer this letter, but sent formeto him. He told 
me he was very much surprized that I did not depend on his 
judgment for my future happiness ; that he knew nothing I had 
to complain of, &c.; that he did not doubt I had some other 
fancy in my head, which encouraged me to this disobedience ; 
but he assured me, if I refused a settlement he had provided 
for me, he gave me his word, whatever proposals were made 
him, he would never so much as enter into a treaty with any 
other; that, if I founded any hopes upon his death, I should 
find myself mistaken, he never intended to leave me any thing 
but an annuity of £400 per annum; that, though another 
would proceed in this manner after I had given so just a 
pretence for it, yet he had [the] goodness to leave my destiny 
yet in my own choice, and at the same time commanded me 
to communicate my design to my relations, and ask their 
advice. As hard as this may sound, it did not shock my 
resolution ; I was pleased to think, at any price, I had it in my 
power to be free from a man I hated. I told my intention to 
all my nearest relations. I was surprized at their blaming it, to 
the greatest degree. I was told, they were sorry I would ruin 
myself; but, if I was so unreasonable, they could not blame 
my F. [father] whatever he inflicted on me. I objected I did 
not love him. They made answer, they found no necessity of 
loving ; if I lived well with him, that was all was required of 
me ; and that if I considered this town, I should find very few 
women in love with their husbands, and yet a many happy. 
It was in vain to dispute with such prudent people ; they looked 
upon me as a little romantic, and I found it impossible to 
persuade them that living in London at liberty was not the 


Her Life and Letters 59 


height of happiness. However, they could not change my 
thoughts, though I found I was to expect »o protection from 
them. When I was to give my final answer to , I told 
him that I preferred a single life to any other; and, if he 
pleased to permit me, I would take that resolution. He replied, 
he could not hinder my resolutions, but I should not pretend 
after that to please him ; since pleasing him was only to be done 
by obedience; that if I would disobey, I knew the conse- 
quences ; he would not fail to confine me, where I might repent 
at leisure ; that he had also consulted my relations, and found 
them all agreeing in hissentiments. He spoke this in a manner 
hindered my answering. I retired to my chamber, where 
I writ a letter to let him know my aversion to the man proposed 
was too great to be overcome, that I should be miserable beyond 
all things could be imagined, but I was in his hands, and he 
might dispose of me as he thought fit. He was perfectly satis- 
fied with this answer, and proceeded as if I had given a willing 
consent.—I forgot to tell you, he named you, and said, if I 
thought that way, I was very much mistaken ; that if he had 
no other engagements, yet he would never have agreed to 
your proposals, having no inclination to see his grandchildren 
beggars. 

“TI do not speak this to endeavour to alter your opinion, but 
to shew the improbability of his agreeing to it. I confess I 
am entirely of your mind. I reckon it among the absurdities 
of custom that a man must be obliged to settle his whole estate 
on an eldest son, beyond his power to recall, whatever he proves 
to be, and make himself unable to make happy a younger child 
that may deserve to beso. If I had an estate myself, I should 
not make such ridiculous settlements, and I cannot blame you 
for being in the right. 

“ Thave told you all my affairs with a plain sincerity. Ihave 
avoided to move your compassion, and I have said nothing of 
what I suffer ; and I have not persuaded you to a treaty, which 
I am sure my family will never agree to. I can have no fortune 
without an entire obedience. 





60 Lady Mary Wortley Montagu : 








‘‘ Whatever your business is, may it end to your satisfaction. 
I think of the public as you do. As little as that is a woman's _ 
care, it may be permitted into the number of a woman’s fears. 
But, wretched as I am, I have no more to fear for myself. 
I have still a concern for my friends, and I am in pain for 
your danger. I am far from taking ill what you say, I never 
valued myself as the daughter of , and ever despised 
those that esteemed me on that account. With pleasure I 
could barter all that, and change to be any country gentleman’s 
daughter that would have reason enough to make happiness in 
privacy. My letteristoolong. I beg your pardon. You may 
see by the situation of my affairs ’tis without design.”’ 





The marriage with the gentleman unknown was thus 
called off—to the very considerable anger of Lord Dorchester. 
Lord Pierrepont wrote offering to come to her aid, by 
representing to her father the hardship he was inflicting by 
endeavouring to force her inclination. He went so far as to 
say that he would assist her to marry a man of moderate 
means, if there were such an one in her heart. She was little 
used to sympathy, and the proposal affected her deeply. “‘ The 
generosity and goodness of this letter wholly determines my 
softest inclinations on your side,’’ she wrote with unusual 
gentleness to Montagu on a Thursday night in August. ‘“‘ You 
are in the wrong to suspect me of artifice ; plainly showing me 
the kindness of your heart (if you have any there for me) is 
the surest way to touch mine, and I am at this minute more 
inclined to speak tenderly to you than ever I was in my life— 
so much inclined I will say nothing. I could wish you would 
leave England, but I know not how to object to anything that 
pleases you. In this minute I have no will that does not 
agree with yours.”’ 


There is a reference in the letter just printed to a meeting of 
Lady Anne and Montagu, but how often they saw each other at 
this time there is no knowing. 








Her Life and Letters 61 








However, it must have been in August that, failing the con- 
sent of Lord Dorchester to their marriage, they made up their 
minds to elope. From whom the suggestion first came, who 
can say? Let it be hoped for the sake of maiden modesty it 
came from Montagu. What drove them to this step may well 
have been the fear that Lord Dorchester might, to all intents 
and purposes, imprison his daughter on one of his estates. 
Even at the eleventh hour, Lady Mary was determined that 
there should be no misunderstanding between her and her 
fiancé. She wrote to him saying that if she came to him in this 
way, she would come to him without a portion. To this part 
of her letter he vouchsafed no reply, so she again touched 
upon the matter. 


‘“ You made no reply to one part of my letter concerning my 
fortune. I am afraid you flatter yourself that my F. [father] 
may be at length reconciled and brought to reasonable terms 
I am convinced, by what I have often heard him say, speaking 
of other cases like this, he never will. The fortune he has 
engaged to give with me, was settled on my B. [brother]’s 
marriage, on my sister and on myself; but in such a manner, 
that it was left in his power to give it all to either of us, or divide 
as he thought fit. He has given italltome. Nothing remains 
for my sister, but the free bounty of my F. [father] from what 
he can save; which, notwithstanding the greatness of his 
estate, may be very little. Possibly, after I have disobliged: 
him so much, he may be glad to have her so easily provided 
for, with money already raised ; especially if he has a design to 
marry himself,as I hear. I do not speak this that you should 
not endeavour to come to terms with him, if you please ; but I 
am fully persuaded it will be to no purpose.” 


Lady Mary assured Montagu that Lord Dorchester’s attitude 
was this: She had consented to an engagement with 
another man, that she had let him incur an expenditure of some 
four hundred pounds for a trousseau, and that, by breaking it 


62 Lady Mary Wortley Montagu : 


off, had made him look foolish. In fact, her father, she added, 
had given her clearly to understand that he would entertain 
no dealings whatsoever with any suitor other than the one of 
his choice, that he would send her to his estate in the north of 
England, and that it was his intention to leave her, on his death, 
only an annuity of four hundred pounds. 

As a good sportsman she at the last moment gave Montagu 
a chance to retreat. 


“ He [my father] will have a thousand plausible reasons for 
being irreconcileable, and ’tis very probable the world will be of 
his side. Reflect now for the last time in what manner you 
must take me. I shall come to you with only a night-gown and 
petticoat, and that is all you will get with me. I told a lady 
of my friends what I intended to do. You will think her a 
very good friend when I tell you she has proffered to lend us 
her house if we would come there the first night. I did not 
accept of this till I had let you know it. If you think it more 
convenient to carry me to your lodgings, make no scruple of 
it. Let it be where it will: if I am your wife I shall think no 
place unfit for me where you are. I beg we may leave London 
next morning, wherever you intend to go. I should wish to go 
out of England if it suits with your affairs. You are the best 
judge of your father’s temper. If you think it would be oblig- 
ing to him, or necessary for you, I will go with you immediately 
to ask his pardon and his blessing. If that is not proper at 
first, I think the best scheme is going to the Spa. When you 
come back, you may endeavour to make your father admit of 
seeing me, and treat with mine (thought I persist in thinking it 
will be to no purpose). But I cannot think of living in the 
midst of my relations and acquaintance after so unjustifiable 
a step :—unjustifiable to the world,—but I think I can justify 
myself to myself. I again beg you to hire a coach to be at the 
door early Monday morning, to carry us some part of our way, 
wherever you resolve our journey shall be. If you determine 
to go to that lady’s house, you had better come with a coach 





Her Life and Letters 63 











and six at seven o’clock to-morrow. She and I will be in the 
balcony that looks on the road: you have nothing to do but to 
stop under it, and we will come down to you. Do in this what 
you like best. After all, think very seriously. Your letter, 
which will be waited for, is to determine everything. I forgive 
you a coarse expression in your last, which, however, I wish 
had not been there. You might have said something like it 
without expressing it in that manner ; but there was so much 
complaisance in the rest of it I ought to be satisfied. You 
can shew me no goodness I shall not be sensible of. However, 
think again, and resolve never to think of me if you have the 
least doubt, or that it is likely to make you uneasy in your 
fortune. I believe to travel is the most likely way to make 
a solitude agreeable, and not tiresome : remember you have 
promised it.’’ . 


Even in this hour of excitement Lady Mary did not lose 
her head, and she asked for a settlement that would make her 
easy in her mind. 


“’Tis something odd for a woman that brings nothing to 
expect anything; but after the way of my education, I dare 
not pretend to live but in some degree suitable to it. I had 
rather die than return to a dependancy upon relations I have 
disobliged. Save me from that fear if you love me. If you 
cannot, or think I ought not to expect it, be sincere and tell me 
so. ‘Tis better I should not be yours at all, than, for a short 
happiness, involve myself in ages of misery. I hope there will 
never be occasion for this precaution ; but, however, ’tis neces- 
sary tomake it. I depend entirely on your honour, and I 
cannot suspect you of any way doing wrong. Do not 
imagine I shall be angry at anything you can tell me. Let it 
be sincere; do not impose on a woman that leaves all 
things for you.” 


No woman could be more sensible than was Lady Mary at 


64 Lady Mary Wortley Montagu : 


this time, and she gave expression to the most exemplary 
sentiments. 

“A woman that adds nothing to a man’s fortune ought not 
to take from his happiness. If possible I would add to it ; 
but I will not take from you any satisfaction you could enjoy 
without me.” 

“Tf we marry, our happiness must consist in loving one 
another: ‘tis principally my concern to think of the most 
probable method of making the love eternal.” 

“There is one article absolutely necessary—to be ever 
beloved, one must be ever agreeable.” 

“Very few people that have settled entirely in the country 
but have grown at length weary of one another. The lady’s 
conversation generally falls into a thousand impertinent effects 
of idleness, and the gentleman falls 77 love with his dogs and 
horses and out of love with everything else.”’ 

And so on. 

Possibly if Lady Mary had had less brains and more 
passion, if she had not so calmly worked out the permutations 
and combinations of married life, the alliance might have been 
more successful. She, with all her intelligence, did not seem 
to realise that matrimony is not an affair of rules and regula- 
tions, of aphorisms and epigrams, nor that the lines on which 
husband and wife shall conduct themselves to a happy ending 
can be settled by a study of vulgar fractions. 

Anyhow, the plunge was at last taken—with some not un- 
natural trepidation on the part ot the twenty-three-year-old 
bride. On Friday night, August 15, 1712, she wrote to 
Montagu: 


“IT tremble for what we are doing.—Are you sure you will 
love me forever ? Shall we neverrepent? I fear and I hope. 
I forsee all that will happen on this occasion. I shall incense 
my family in the highest degree. The generality of the world 
will blame my conduct, and the relations and friends of - 
will invent a thousand stories of me; yet, ‘tis possible, you 





Her Life and Letters 65 


may recompense everything to me. In this letter, which I am 
fond of, you promise me all that I wish. Since I writ so far, I 
received your Friday letter. I will be only yours, and I will 
do what you please. 

“ You shall hear from me again to-morrow, not to contradict, 
but to give some directions. My resolution is taken. Love 
me and use me well.”’ 


The wedding licence is dated August 16, and the marriage 
took place in a day or two. 

The bride had the active assistance of her uncle, William 
Feilding, who may have been present at the ceremony ; and the 
full sympathy of her brother, Lord Kingston, who, however, 
did not accompany her, perhaps deeming it impolitic to quarrel 
with his father. 

The family must have thought that Lord Dorchester would 
examine Lady Mary’s papers, for her sister, Lady Frances 
destroyed all she could find, including, unfortunately, a diary 
that Lady Mary had kept for several years. 





66 Lady Mary Wortley Montagu : 


CHAPTER IV 


EARLY MARRIED LIFE (1712-1714) 


An uneventful existence—Montagu’s Parliamentary duties take him to 
London—Lady Mary stays mostly in the country—Correspondence 
—Montagu a careless husband, but very careful of his money 
—Later he becomes a miser—Lady Mary does not disguise the 
tedium of her existence—-Concerning a possible reconciliation with 
her father—Lord Pierrepont of Hanslope—Lord Halifax—Birth 
of a son, christened after his father, Edward Wortley Montagu— 
The mother’s anxiety about his health—Family events—Lady 
Evelyn Pierrepont marries Baron (afterwards Earl) Gower— 
Lady Frances Pierrepont marries the Earl of Mar—Lord Dor- 
chester marries again—Has issue, two daughters—the death of 
Lady Mary’s brother, William—His son, Evelyn, in due course 
succeeds to the Dukedom of Kingston—Elizabeth Chudleigh—The 
political situation in 1714—The death of Queen Anne—The acces- 
cession of George I—The unrest in the country—Lady Mary’s 
alarm for her son. 


THE records for the first years of the married life of Edward and 
Lady Mary Wortley Montagu are scanty indeed. From the 
wedding day until 1716, when they went abroad, Lady Mary’s 
life was, for months together, as uneventful as that of the 
ordinary suburban housewife. Montagu’s parliamentary duties 
took him frequently to town, and kept him there for prolonged 
periods, during which he certainly showed no strong desire for 
her to join him. Lady Mary, indeed, spent most of the time in 
the country. Sometimes she stayed at the seat of her father- 
in-law, Wharncliffe Lodge, near Sheffield; occasionally she 
visited Lord Sandwich at Hinchinbrooke ; for a while they 
stayed at Middlethorpe, in the neighbourhood of Bishopthorpe 
and York. From time to time they hired houses in other parts 
of Yorkshire. 





Her Life and Letters 67 


The honeymoon lasted from August until October, 1712, 
when Montagu had to go to Westminster. 

The first letter of this period is dated characteristically : 
“ Walling Wells, October 22, which is the first post I could write, 
Monday night being so fatigued and sick I went straight to bed 
from the coach.” It starts: 


“ T don’t know very well how to begin ; I am perfectly un- 
acquainted with a proper matrimonial stile. After all, I 
think ’tis best to write as if we were not married at all. I 
lament your absence, as if you were still my lover, and I am 
impatient to hear you are got safe to Durham, and that 
you have fixed a time for your return.” 


Marriage made Lady Mary more human. She no longer 
dwelt upon the various points that in her maidenhood days she 
had thought would be conducive to happiness in matrimonial 
life ; she was now, anyhow for the moment, in love with her 
husband, or at least persuaded herself that this was the case, and 
was at pains to inform him of the fact. 


“ T have not been very long in this family ; and I fancy my- 
self in that described in the ‘ Spectator,’ ’’ the letter of October 
22 continues. ‘“‘ The good people here look upon their children 
with a fondness that more than recompenses their care of them. 
I don’t perceive much distinction in regard to their merits ; and 
when they speak sense or nonsense, it affects the parents with 
almost the same pleasure. My friendship for the mother, and 
kindness for Miss Biddy, make me endure the squalling of Miss 
Nanny and Miss Mary with abundance of patience: and my 
foretelling the future conquests of the eldest daughter, makes 
me very well with the family.—I don’t know whether you will 
presently find out that this seeming impertinent account is the 
tenderest expressions of my love to you; but it furnishes 
my imagination with agreeable pictures of our future life - 
and I flatter myself with the hopes of one day enjoying with 





68 Lady Mary Wortley Montagu : 
you the same satisfactions; and that, after as many years 
together, I may see you retain the same fondness for me as I 
shall certainly mine for you, and the noise of anursery may have 
more charms for us than the music of an opera. 

[Torn] “‘as these are the sure effect of my sincere love, 
since ‘tis the nature of that passion to entertain the mind 
with pleasures in prospect ; and I check myself when I grieve 
for your absence, by remembering how much reason I have 
to rejoice in the hope of passing my whole life with you. A 
good fortune not to be valued !—I am afraid of telling you 
that I return thanks for it to Heaven, because you will charge 
me with hypocrisy ; but you are mistaken: I assist every day 
at public prayers in this family, and never forget in my private 
ejaculation how much I owe to Heaven for making me yours. 
‘Tis candle-light, or I should not conclude so soon. 

“ Pray, my dear, begin at the top, and read till you come to 
the bottom.” | 


Montagu, for his part, was somewhat careless as regards 
correspondence—for which offence she rebuked him more than 
once, but in the most flattering manner. 


“IT am at present in so much uneasiness, my letter is not 
likely to be intelligible, if it all resembles the confusion of my 
head. JI sometimes imagine you not well, and sometimes that 
you think of it small importance to write, or that greater 
matters have taken up your thoughts. This last imagination 
is too cruel forme. I will rather fancy your letter has mis- 
carried, though I find little probability to think so. I know 
not what to think, and am very near being distracted, amongst 
my variety of dismal apprehensions. I am very ill company 
to the good people of the house, who all bid me make you their 
compliments. Mr. White begins your health twice every day. 
You don’t deserve all this if you can be so entirely forgetful 
of all this part of the world. I am peevish with you by fits, 
and divide my time between anger and sorrow, which are equaly 





Her Life and Letters 69 


troublesome tome. ‘Tis the most cruel thing in the world, to 
think one has reason to complain of what one loves. How can 
you be so careless ?—is it because you don’t love writing? 
You should remember I want to know you are safe at Durham. 
I shall imagine you have had some fall from your horse, or ill 
accident by the way, without regard to probability ; there is 
nothing too extravagant for a woman’s and a lover’s fears. 
Did you receive my last letter ? if you did not, the direction is 
wrong, you won't receive this, and my question is invain. I 
find I begin to talk nonsense, and ‘tis time to leave off. Pray, 
my dear, write to me, or I shall be very mad.” 


Montagu was, not to put too fine a point on it, a careless 
husband. Not only did he neglect to write to his wife, but he 
neglected, or forgot, to keep her adequately supplied with 
money. She had more than once to remind him of this. “I 
wish you would write again to Mr. Phipps, for I don’t hear of 
any money, and am in the utmost necessity forit,’’ she told him 
in November, 1712. Montagu, even at this time a well-to-do 
man, found it difficult to part with his money. A couple of 
years later, Lady Mary had again tosaytohim: “ Pray order 
me some money, for I am in great want, and must run into debt 
if you don’t doit soon.’’ Even in these days Montagu evidently 
had begun to be miserly. With all his riches, he never spent a 
crown when a smaller sum would suffice, and during most of his 
life he, as Sir Leslie Stephen put it, ‘‘ devoted himself chiefly to 
saving money.’ 

In the winter of 1712, Lady Mary, who was with child, 
suffered much from ill-health, and this was to some extent 
aggravated by intense boredom, although of that boredom she 
wrote good-humouredly enough. 


‘““T don’t believe you expect to hear from me so soon, if I 
remember you did not so much as desire it, but I will not be 
so nice to quarrel with you on that point ; perhaps you would 
laugh at that delicacy, which is, however, an attendant of a 





70 Lady Mary Wortley Montagu : 
tender friendship,” she wrote to her husband from Hinchin- 
brooke at the beginning of December, 1712. 

“ T opened the closet where I expected to find so many books ; 
to my great disappointment there were only some few pieces 
of the law, and folios of mathematics; my Lord Hinching- 
brook and Mr. Twiman having disposed of the rest. But as 
there is no affliction, no more than no happiness, without alloy, 
I discovered an old trunk of papers, which to my great diver- 
sion I found to be the letters of the first Earl of Sandwich ; 
and am in hopes that those from his lady will tend much to 
my edification, being the most extraordinary lessons of economy 
that ever I read in my life. To the glory of your father, I find 
that jis looked upon him as destined to be the honour of the 
family. 

“TI walked yesterday two hours on the terrace. These are 
the most considerable events that have happened in your 
absence ; excepting that a good-natured robin red-breast kept 
me company almost all the afternoon,with so much good humour 
and humanity as gives me faith for the piece of charity ascribed 
to these little creatures in the Children in the Wood, which I] 
have hitherto thought only a poetical ornament to that history. 

“ T expect a letter next post to tell me you are well in London 
and that your business will not detain you long from her that 
cannot be happy without you.” 


Even in these early days of marriage Montagu seemed to 
have no love for domestic life, and often he stayed in London 
when he could have been in the country with his wife, or had her 
with him in town. ‘“ As much as you say I love the town, if 
you think it necessary for your interest to stay some time here, 
I would not advise you to neglect a certainty for an uncertainty ? 
but I believe if you pass the Christmas here, great matters will 
be expected from your hospitality: however, you are a better 
judge than I am.”’ So Lady Mary wrote from Hinchinbrooke in 
the first week of December. She did not disguise from him the 
tedium of her existence. 





Her Life and Letters 7 


“I continue indifferently well, and endeavour as much as 
I can to preserve myself from spleen and melancholy ; not for 
my own sake; I think that of little importance ; but in the 
condition I am, I believe it may be of very ill consequence ; 
yet, passing whole days alone as I do, I do not always find it 
possible, and my constitution will sometimes get the better of 
my reason. Human nature itself, without any additional 
misfortunes, furnishes disagreeable meditations enough. Life 
itself to make it supportable, should not be considered too 
near; my reason represents to me in vain the inutility of 
serious reflections. The idle mind will sometimes fall into con- 
templations that serve for nothing but to ruin the health, 
destroy good humour, hasten old age and wrinkles, and bring 
on an habitual melancholy. ‘Tis a maxim with me to be 
young as long as one can: there is nothing can pay one for 
that invaluable ignorance which is the companion of youth ; 
those sanguine groundless hopes, and that lively vanity, which 
make all the happiness of life. To my extreme mortification I 
grow wiser every day than other [sc]. I don’t believe Solomon 
was more convinced of the vanity of temporal affairs than I 
am; I lose all taste of this world, and I suffer myself to be 
bewitched by the charms of the spleen, though I know and 
foresee all the irremediable mischiefs arising from it. I am 
insensibly fallen into the writing you a melancholy letter, after 
all my resolutions to the contrary; but I do not enjoin you 
to read it: make no scruple of flinging it into the fire at the 
first dull line. Forgive the ill effects of my solitude, and think 
me as I[ am, 


“Ever yours.’’ 


There was still hope in the hearts of Lady Mary and her hus- 
band that it might be possible to effect a reconciliation with Lord 
Dorchester. Since apparently the Marquess was not directly 
approachable by either of them, they perforce had to seek an 
intermediary. Such an one, they trusted at one time, would be 
one of Lady Mary’s relatives, Lord Pierrepont of Hanslope. 





72 Lady Mary Wortley Montagu : 


To this matter there are many allusions in the correspondence. 
“The Bishop of Salisbury writes me word that he hears my Lord 
Pierrepont declares very much for us,’’ Lady Mary wrote from 
Hinchinbrooke early in December to her husband in town. 
“As the Bishop is no infallible prelate, I should not depend 
much on that intelligence ; but my sister Frances tells me the 
same thing. Since it is so, I believe you'll think it very proper 
to pay him a visit, if he isin town, and give him thanks for the 
good offices you hear he has endeavoured to do me, unasked. 
If his kindness is sincere, ‘tis too valuable to be neglected. 
However, the very appearance of it may be of use to us. If Il 
know him, his desire of making my Father appear in the wrong, 
will make him zealous for us. I think I ought to write him a 
letter of acknowledgment for what I hear he has already done.”’ 
Very shortly after, however, it appears that Lord Pierrepont 
was a broken reed upon which to rely. “I did not expect, 
Lady Mary said bitterly, “‘that my Lord Pierrepont would speak 
at all in our favour, much less show zeal upon that occasion, that 
never showed any in his life.” You cannot put it plainer than 
that. 

One who did really endeavour to bring about the resumption 
of friendly relations was Montagu’s cousin, Charles Montagu, 
first Baron Halifax of Halifax, who was afterwards created first 
Earl of Halifax. 

To judge from Lady Mary’s comments, sometimes when 
Montagu did write it had been better he should not have done 
So. 


“JT am alone, without any amusements to take up my 
thoughts. I am in circumstances in which melancholy is apt 
to prevail even over all amusements, dispirited and alone, 
and you write me quarrelling letters,’’ she rebuked him on one 
occasion. 

“TI hate complaining ; ’tis no sign I am easy that I do not 
trouble you with my head-aches, and my spleen ; to be reason- 
able one should never complain but when one hopes redress. 





Her Life and Letters 73 


A physician should be the only confidant of bodily pains ; and 
for those of the mind, they should never be spoke of but to 
them that can and will relieve ’em. Should I tell you that I am. 
uneasy, that I am out of humour, and out of patience, should I 
see you half an hour the sooner ?_ I believe you have kindness 
enough for me to be very sorry, and so you would tell me ; and 
things remain in their primitive state; I chuse to spare you 
that pain ; I would always give you pleasure. I know you are 
ready to tell me that I do not ever keep to these good maxims. 
I confess I often speak impertinently, but I always repent of it. 
My last stupid letter was not come to you, before I would have 
had it back again had it been in my power ; such as it was, I 
beg your pardon for it.” 


In May, 1713, Lady Mary was delivered of a boy, who was 
christened after his father, Edward Wortley Montagu. Some 
account of his unsatisfactory career will be given in a later 
chapter.. As an infant, he suffered from ill-health. 

“Tam in abundance of pain about our dear child: though I 
am convinced in my reason ’tis both silly and wicked to set 
one’s heart too fondly on anything in this world, yet I cannot 
overcome myself so far as to think of parting with him with the 
resignation that I ought to do,” the mother wrote from Middle- 
thorpe at the end of July. “ [hope and I beg of God he may live 
to be a comfort to us both. They tell me there is nothing 
extraordinary in want of teeth at his age, but his weakness 
makes me very apprehensive ; he is almost never out of my 
sight. Mrs. Behn says that the cold bath is the best medicine 
for weak children, but I am very fearful and unwilling to try 
any hazardous remedies. He is very cheerful and full of play.” 


“J hope the child is better than he was,”’ she mentioned a 
little later ; “‘ but I wish you would let Dr. Garth know he has 
a bigness in his joints, but not much ; his ankles seem chiefly 
to have a weakness. I should be very glad of his advice upon 





74 Lady Mary Wortley Montagu : 


it, and whether he approves rubbing them with spirits, which I 
am told is good for him.’”” Then came more favourable news 
about young Edward. “ I thank God this cold well agrees with 
the child; and he seems stronger and better every day,” 
Lady Mary was able to report. ‘‘ But I should be very glad, 
if you saw Dr. Garth, if you asked his opinion concerning the 
use of cold baths for young children. I hope you love the child 
as well as I do; but if you love me at all, you'll desire the 
preservation of his health, for I should certainly break my heart 
for him.” Garth, it may be assumed, was the famous Samuel 
Garth, afterwards physician-in-ordinary to George I and author 
of The Dispensary. His views on cold baths for children 
of fifteen months have not been handed down to posterity by 
Lady Mary. 

Meantime things were happening in the Pierrepont family. 
Lady Mary’s sister, Lady Frances, had, on March 8, 1712, 
married John, second Baron Gower, who afterwards was created 
Earl Gower. Lady Mary’s other sister, Lady Evelyn, on July 26, 
1714, became the second wife of John Erskine, sixth or eleventh 
Earl of Mar of the Erskine line, who presently came into promi- 
nence as an adherent of the Pretender in the rebellion of ’15, 
after which he fled the country. Hewascreated Duke of Mar by 
the Pretender. Finally, the Marquess of Dorchester, being then 
in his fiftieth year, took for his second wife, on August 2, 1714, 
Lady Isabella Bentinck, fifth daughter of William, first Earl 
of Portland and his first wife, Anne, sister of Edward, first Earl 
of Jersey. There was issue of this marriage two daughters : 
Caroline, who married Thomas Brand, of Kempton, Hertfor- 
shire ; and Anne, who died unmarried in 1739 at the age of 
twenty. 

Already, on July 1, 1723, had died Lord Dorchester’s only 
son and heir, William, who took the style of Earl of Kingston. 
He had married Rachel, daughter of Thomas Baynton, of Little 
Chalfield, Wiltshire, by whom he had one son, named Evelyn, 
after his grandfather, whom he succeeded in 1726 as the second 
Duke of Kingston. 





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Her Life and Letters 75 


The career of Evelyn was undistinguished. Born in 1711, his 
aunt, Lady Mary, said of him at the age of fifteen: ‘‘ The Duke 
of Kingston has hitherto had so ill an education, ’tis hard to 
make any judgment of him; he has his spirit, but I fear will 
never have his father’s sense. As young gentlemen go, ’tis 
possible he may make a good figure among them.”’ Than which 
it would be unkind to say anything more cutting. Of course, 
honours came tohim. He was created Knight of the Garter in 
1741, in which year he was appointed a Lord of the Bedchamber. 
He rose to the rank of colonel in the army in 1745, and twenty- 
seven years later was promoted General ; but it does not appear 
that he saw any service. The second Duke of Kingston will, 
however, always be remembered for his marriage in 1769 with 
the beautiful and notorious Elizabeth Chudleigh, who was nine 
years his junior. She had in 1744 married secretly Augustus John 
Hervey, afterwards sixth Earl of Bristol, who survived until 
December, 1779. She had long been living with the Duke, 
but in 1769 she obtained a divorce a mensa et thoro, which she 
believed erroneously annulled the marriage. The Duke died 
in 1773, when all his titles became extinct. His Duchess was 
in the following year tried before the House of Lords for 
bigamy, found guilty, but, pleading benefit of peerage, was dis- 
charged. Thus, she carried out the prognostication of Lord 
Chief Justice Mansfield, who had opposed the prosecution. 
“The arguments about the place of trial suggest to my mind 
the question about the propriety of any trial at all,”’ he said ina 
debate in the House of Lords. ‘‘ Cut bono? What utility is to 
be obtained ? Suppose a conviction to be the result ?—the 
lady makes your lordships a courtesy, and you return a bow.” 
She survived, living on the continent, until 1788. As an 
epitaph for her there can be nothing better than a remark of 
Horace Walpole: “I can tell you nothing more extraordinary, 
nor would any history figure near hers. It shows genius to 
strike anything so new as her achievements. Though we have 
many uncommon personages, it is not easy for them to be so 
superiorly particular.’ 





476 Lady Mary Wortley Montagu : 


More generally interesting than these domestic matters was 
the political situation. Queen Anne’s life had for some time 
been hanging in the balance. It was thought that she might 
linger for some time, but there was no hope of her recovery. 
The fight that was carried on between the supporters of the 
Hanoverian succession and the adherents of the Pretender is, 
of course, a matter of history. On August 5, 1714, came to 
the Elector of Hanover, James Craggs, junior, with a letter from 
the Privy Council, dated July 31, announcing the precarious 
state of Anne’s health, and conveying assurances that in the 
event of her demise every precaution would be taken to safeguard 
the rights of George Lewis. The same night messengers arrived 
at Hanover from London with the news of the death of the 
Queen, who had passed away on July 31, shortly after the 
departure of Craggs. 

During the interval between the proclamation of the acces- 
sion of George I and his arrival, which did not take place until 
September 17, the country was in a disturbed state, and it is not 
unnatural that Lady Mary in Yorkshire was alarmed for the 
safety of herself and the child. 


“T cannot forbear taking it something unkindly that you 
do not write to me, when you may be assured I am in a great 
fright, and know not certainly what to expect upon this sudden 
change,’ she wrote from Middlethorpe to Montagu. ‘“‘ The 
Archbishop of York has been come to Bishopthorpe but three 
days. Iwent with my cousin to-day to see the King proclaimed, 
which was done; the Archbishop. walking next the Lord 
Mayor, all the country gentry following, with greater crowds of 
people than I believed to be in York, vast acclamations, and the 
appearance of a general satisfaction. The Pretender afterwards 
dragged about the streets and burned. Ringing of bells, bon- 
fires, and illuminations, the mob crying Liberty and Property ! 
and Long live King George! This morning all the principal 
men of any figure took post for London, and we are alarmed 
with the fear of attempts from Scotland, though all Protestants 








Her Life and Letters a3 


here seem unanimous for the Hanover succession. The poor 
young ladies at Castle Howard are as much afraid as I am, being 
left all alone, without any hopes of seeing their father again 
(though things should prove well) this eight or nine months. 
They have sent to desire me very earnestly to come to them, 
and bring my boy; ‘tis the same thing as pensioning in a 
nunnery, for no mortal man ever enters the doors in the 
absence of their father, who is gone post. During this un- 
certainty, I think it will be a safe retreat ; for Middlethorpe 
stands exposed to plunderers, if there be any at all.” 


A day or two later this letter was followed by another : 


“You made mecry two hours lastnight. Icannot imagine 
why you use me so ill; for what reason you continue silent, 
when you know at any time your silence cannot fail of giving 
me a great deal of pain; and now to a higher degree because 
of the perplexity that I am in, without knowing where you are, 
what you are doing, or what to do with myself and my dear little 
boy. However (persuaded there can be no objection to it), 
I intend to go to-morrow to Castle Howard, and remain there 
with the young ladies, ’till I know when I shall see you, or 
what you would command. The Archbishop and everybody 
else are gone to London. We are alarmed with a story of a 
fleet being seen from the coasts of Scotland. An express went 
from thence through York to the Earl of Mar. I beg you 
would write to me. ‘Till you do I shall not have an easy 
minute. Iam sure I do not deserve from you that you should 
make me uneasy. I find I am scolding, ’tis better for me not 
to trouble you with it ; but I cannot help taking your silence 
very unkindly.”’ 








78 Lady Mary Wortley Montagu : 





CHAPTER V 


THE ACCESSION OF GEORGE I (1714) 


Lady Mary shows an increasing interest in politics—She tries to incite 
her husband to be ambitious—Montagu not returned to the new 
Parliament—His lack of energy—Correspondence—The Council of 
Regency—The King commands Lord Townshend to form a 
Government—The Cabinet—Lord Halifax, First Lord of the 
Treasury—Montagu appointed a Lord Commissioner of the 
Treasury—Correspondence—The unsatisfactory relations between 
Lady Mary and Montagu. 


AT the time of the death of Queen Anne Lady Mary began to 
show an increased interest in politics, at least in so far as the 
career of Montagu was bound up with it. She began to try to 
persuade her husband to be, to some extent at least, ambitious. 
It may be that she was not happy at the thought of being 
married to a man who was regarded as a nonentity. She was 
always urging him to put his best foot forward. Sometimes 
she wrote to him as to a naughty child. “I am very much 
surprised that you do not tell me in your last letter that you 
have spoke to my Father,”’ she said in August, 1714. “I hope 
after staying in the town on purpose, you do not intend to omit 
it. I beg you would not leave any sort of business unfinished, 
remembering those two necessary maxims, Whatever you intend 
to do as long as you live do as soon as you can ; and to leave 
nothing to be done by another that ’tis possible to do yourself. 
What sort of a man must Montagu have been at the age of 
thirty-six that his wife should deem it necessary to give him 
such first-aid advice ? 

Montagu was evidently of a procrastinating turn of mind. 





Her Life and Letters 79 





He had, as has been said, sat for Huntingdon in the House of 
Commons from 1705 until 1713. In the latter year Parliament 
was dissolved on August 8, but Montagu had made no definite 
plans as regards his future political career—for some reason or 
other his father reserved for himself the seat for Huntingdon. 
Montagu found no other constituency, and consequently did 
not sit in the new Parliament that assembled on the following 
November 11. 


“ T suppose you may now come in at Aldburgh, and I heartily 
wish you was in Parliament,’’ Lady Mary wrote to him. “I 
saw the Archbishop [of York]’s list of the Lords Regents ap- 
pointed, and perceive Lord Wharton is not one of them; by 
which I guess the new scheme is not to make use of any man 
grossly infamous in either party ; consequently, those who have 
been honest in regard to both, will stand fairest for preferment. 
You understand these things much better than me ; but I hope 
you will be persuaded by me and your other friends (who I don’t 
doubt will be of opinion) that ‘tis necessary for the common 
good for an honest man to endeavour to be powerful, when he 
can be the one without losing the first more valuable title; and 
remember that money is the source of power. I hear that 
Parliament sits but six months; you know best whether ’tis 
worth any expense or bustle to be in for so short a time.” 


Lady Mary’s letters now contain many references to political 
affairs, anyhow in so far as they directly concern Montagu. 


“I hope you are convinced I was not mistaken in my 
judgment of Lord Pelham ; he is very silly but very good- 
natured. I don’t see how it can be improper for you to get 
it represented to him that he is obliged in honour to get you 
chose at Aldburgh, and may more easily get Mr. Jessop chose 
at another place. I can’t believe but you may manage it in 
such a manner, Mr. Jessop himself would not be against it, 
nor would he have so much reason to take it ill, if he should 





80 Lady Mary Wortley Montagu : 


not be chose, as you have after so much money fruitlessly 
spent. J dare say you may order it so that it may be so, if 
you talk to Lord Townshend about it, &c. I mention this, 
because I cannot think you can stand at York, or anywhere 
else, without a great expense. Lord Morpeth is just now of 
age, but I know not whether he’ll think it worth while to 
return from travel upon that occasion. Lord Carlisle is in 
town, you may if you think fit make him a visit, and enquire 
concerningit. After all, ] look upon Aldburgh to be the surest 
thing. Lord Pelham is easily persuaded to any thing, and I am 
sure he may be told by Lord Townshend that he has used you 
ill; and I know he'll be desirous to do all things in his power 
to make it up. In my opinion, if you resolve upon an extra- 
ordinary expense to be in Parliament, you should resolve to 
have it turn to some account. Your father is very surprizing 
if he persists in standing at Huntingdon ; but there is nothing 
surprizing in such a world as this.” 


Later in August Lady Mary wrote again on the same subject, 
and this letter shows that she had been at pains to acquire 
some practical knowledge of borough-mongering. 


“You seem not to have received my letters, or not to have 
understood them ; you had been chose undoubtedly at York, 
if you had declared in time; but there is not any gentle- 
man or tradesman disengaged at this time; they are treating 
every night. Lord Carlisle and the Thompsons have given 
their interest to Mr. Jenkins. I agree with you of the necessity 
of your standing this Parliament, which, perhaps, may be more 
considerable than any that are to follow it ; but, as you proceed, 
‘tis my opinion, you will spend your money and not be chose. 
I believe there is hardly a borough unengaged. I expect every 
letter should tell me you are sure of some place; and, as 
far as I can perceive you are sure of none. As it has been 
managed, perhaps it will be the best way to deposit a certain 
sum in some friend’s hands, and buy some little Cornish borough: 





Her Life and Letters SI 


it would, undoubtedly, look better to be chose for a considerable 
town; but I take it to be now too late. If you have any 
thoughts of Newark, it will be absolutely necessary for you to 
enquire after Lord Lexington’s interest ; and your best way to 
apply yourself to Lord Holdernesse, who is buth a Whig and an 
honest man. He is now in town, and you may enquire of him if 
Brigadier Sutton stands there ; and if not, try to engage him 
for you. Lord Lexington isso ill at the Bath, that it is a doubt if 
he will live ’till the election ; and if he dies, one of his heiresses, 
and the whole interest of his estate, will probably fall on Lord _ 
Holdernesse. 

“*Tis a surprise to me that you cannot make sure of some 
borough, when so many of your friends bring in several Par- 
liament-men without trouble or expense. ‘Tis too late to 
mention it now, but you might have applied to Lady Win- 
chester, as Sir Joseph Jekyl did last year, and by her interest 
the Duke of Bolton brought him in for nothing ; I am sure she 
would be more zealous to serve me than Lady Jekyl. You 
should understand these things better than me. I heard, bya 
letter last post, that Lady M. Montagu and Lady Hinchinbrook 
are to be Bedchamber Ladies to the Princess, and Lady Towns- 
hend Groom of the Stole. She must be a strange Princess if 
she can pick a favourite out of them; and as she will be one 
dey Queen, and they say has an influence over her husband, I 
wonder they don’t think fit to place women about her with a little 
common sense.”’ 


Again, in the middle of September Lady Mary returned to 
the subject of Montagu finding a seat in the House : 


“ T cannot be very sorry for your declining at Newark, being 
very uncertain of your success ; but I am surprized you do not 
mention where you intend to stand. Dispatch, in things of 
this nature, if not a security, at least delay is a sure way to 
lose, as you have done, being easily chose at York, for not 
resolving in time, and Aldburgh, for not applying soon enough 

F 


82 Lady Mary Wortley Montagu : 


to Lord Pelham. Here are people here had rather choose 
Fairfax than Jenkins, and others that prefer Jenkins to Fairfax ; 
but both parties, separately, have wished to me you would 
have stood, with assurances of having preferred you to either 
of them. At Newark, Lord Lexington has a very consider- 
able interest. If you have any thoughts of standing, you 
must endeavour to know how he stands affected ; though I am 
afraid he will assist Brigadier Sutton, or some other Tory. 
Sir Matthew Jenison has the best interest of any Whig; but 
he stood last year himself, and will, perhaps, do so again. 
Newdigate will certainly be chose there for one. Upon the 
whole, ’tis the most expensive and uncertain place you can 
stand at. ’Tissurprizing to me, that you are all this while in 
the midst of your friends without being sure of a place, when 
so many insignificant creatures come in without any opposition. 
They say Mr. Strickland is sure at Carlisle, where he never 
stood before. I believe most places are engaged by this time. 
I am very sorry, for your sake, that you spent so much money 
in vain last year, and will not come in this, when you might 
make a more considerable figure than you could have done 
then. 1 wish Lord Pelham would compliment Mr. Jessop 
with his Newark interest, and let you come in at Aldburgh.”’ 


On the death of the Queen, the Council, which had assembled 
at Kensington Palace, adjourned to St. James’s. By the 
Regency Bill the administration of the government (in the event 
of the King being absent from the realm at the time of his 
accession to the throne) devolved upon the holders for the time 
being of the Great Officers of State: the Archbishop of Canter- 
bury (Dr. Thomas Tenison), the Lord Chancellor (Simon, Lord 
Harcourt), the Lord President (John, Duke of Buckingham- 
shire), the Lord High Treasurer (Charles, Duke of Shrewsbury), 
the Lord Privy Seal (William, Earl of Dartmouth), the First 
Lord of the Admiralty (Thomas, Earl of Strafford), and the 
Lord Chief Justice of the King’s Bench (Sir Thomas Parker, 
afterwards Earl of Macclesfield). . Under another clause of the 


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Lapy Mary WorTLEY MONTAGU. 
1720. 








Her Life and Letters 83 


Regency Act the Sovereign was entitled to nominate a number 
of Lords Justices. Baron von Bothmer, the Hanovarian 
Envoy Extraordinary to the Court of St. James’s, opened the 
sealed packet containing the Commission of Regency, drawn up 
by George after the death of his mother. The King’s nominees 
were the Archbishop of York, the Dukes of Shrewsbury,* Somer- 
set, Bolton, Devonshire, Kent, Argyll, Montrose, and Rox- 
borough ; the Earls of Pembroke, Anglesea, Carlisle, Notting- 
ham, Abingdon, Scarborough, and Oxford ; Viscount Towns- 
hend ; and Barons Halifax and Cowper. Marlborough was not 
in the Commission, but he was appointed Captain-General of 
the Forces. 


From The Hague, where he arrived on September 5, 1714, 
George I sent authority to Charles, Viscount Townshend, to form 
a Cabinet, with power to nominate his colleagues. Townshend 
took the office of Secretary of State for the Northern Depart- 
ment, and appointed James Stanhope Secretary of State for 
the Southern Department. Lord Halifax became First Lord 
of the Treasury ; Lord Cowper, Lord Chancellor ; the Earl of 
Nottingham, Lord President ; the Marquis of Wharton, Lord 
Privy Seal; the Earl of Oxford, First Lord of the Admiralty ; 
the Earl of Sunderland, Lord-Lieutenant of Ireland; Robert 
Walpole, Paymaster-General of the Forces. As Captain- 
General Marlborough was in the Cabinet. 

Lord Halifax, when making out the Commission of the 
Treasury, invited his cousin Montagu to be one of the Com- 
missioners, although the latter had not secured a seat in Parlia- 
ment. ‘It will besurprizing to add,” says Lady Mary, “that he 
hesitated to accept it at a time when his father was alive and his 
present income very small; but he had certainly refused it if 
he had not been persuaded to it by a rich old uncle of mine, 
Lord Pierrepont, whose fondness for me gave him expectations 


* The Commission was, of course, made out before the Duke of 
Shrewsbury was given the White Staff, the possession of which made him 
a Lord Justice in virtue of his office. 


84 Lady Mary Wortley Montagu : 


of a large legacy.’’ Lady Mary, though glad enough that her 
husband ‘had been given a place, was not over and above 
delighted that it was one so modest. 


Lady Mary Wortley Montagu to her Husband 
[Enclosed, September 24, 1714.] 

“Though I am very impatient to see you, I would not have 
you, by hastening to come down, lose any part of your interest. 
I am surprized you say nothing of where youstand. I hada 
letter from Mrs. Hewet last post, who said she heard you 
stood at Newark, and would be chose without opposition ; but 
I fear her intelligence is not at all to be depended on. I am 
glad you think of serving your friends; I hope it will put 
you in mind of serving yourself. I need not enlarge upon the 
advantages of money; every thing we see, and every thing 
we hear, puts us in remembrance of it. If it was possible to 
restore liberty to your country, or limit the encroachments of 
the prerogative, by reducing yourself to a garret, I should 
be pleased to share so glorious a poverty with you ; but as the 
world is, and will be, ’tis a sort of duty to be rich, that it may 
be in one’s power to do good; riches being another word for 
power, towards the obtaining of which the first necessary 
qualification is impudence, and (as Demosthenes said of pro- 
nunciation in oratory) the second is impudence, and the third, 
still, impudence. No modest man ever did or ever will make 
his fortune. Your friend Lord H[alifa]x, R. W[alpolle, and all 
other remarkable instances of quick advancement, have been 
remarkably impudent. The Ministry is like a play at Court ; 
there’s a little door to get in, and a great crowd without, 
shoving and thrusting who shall be foremost; people who 
knock others with their elbows, disregard a little kick of the 
shins, and still thrust heartily forwards, are sure of a good 
place. Your modest man stands behind in the crowd, is 
shoved about by every body, his cloaths tore, almost squeezed 
to death, and sees a thousand get in before him, that don’t 
make so good a figure as himself. 











Her Life and Letters 85 


“J don’t say it is impossible for an impudent man not to rise 
in the world; but a moderate merit, with a large share of 
impudence, is more probable to be advanced, than the greatest 
qualifications without it. 

“ Tf this letter is impertinent, it is founded upon an opinion 
of your merit, which, it if is a mistake, I would not be un- 
deceived in: it is my interest to believe (as I do) that 
you deserve every thing, and are capable of every thing ; 
but nobody else will believe you if they see you _ get 
nothing.”’ 


[Postmark, October 6, 1714.] 

“T cannot imagine why you should desire that I should not 
be glad, though from a mistake, since, at least, it is an agreeable 
one. I confess I shall ever be of opinion, if you are in the 
Treasury, it will be an addition to your figure and facilitate your 
election, though it is no otherwise advantageous ; and that, if 
you have nothing when all your acquaintance are preferred, 
the world generally will not be persuaded that you neglect your 
fortune, but that you are neglected.” 


{[Endorsed, October 9, 1714.] 

“You do me wrong in imagining (as I perceive you do) that 
my reason for being solicitous for your having that place, was 
in view of spending more money than we do. You have no 
cause of fancying me capable of such a thought. I don’t 
doubt but Lord H{alifa]x will very soon have the Staff, and it is 
my belief you will not be at all the richer: but I think it looks 
well, and may facilitate your election; and that is all the 
advantage I hope from it. When all your intimate acquain- 
tance are preferred, I think you would have an ill air in having 
nothing ; upon that account only, | am sorry so many con- 
siderable places are disposed on [sic]. I suppose, now, you will 
certainly be chose somewhere or other ; and I cannot see why 
you should not pretend to be Speaker. I believe all the Whigs 
would be for you, and I fancy you have a considerable interest 





86 Lady Mary Wortley Montagu : 


amongst the Tories, and for that reason would be very likely 
to carry it. ’Tis impossible for me to judge of this so well as 
youcan do ; but the reputation of being thoroughly of no party, 
is (I think) of use in this affair, and I believe people generally 
esteem you impartial ; and being chose by your country is more 
honourable than holding any place from any king.” 


The relations between Lady Mary and her husband did not 
improve. Not only did he neglect to write to her when he 
left her in the country, but he does not at any time appear to 
have had any desire to have her with him in town. Lady 
Mary showed extreme, in fact overmuch, forbearance, but 
towards the end of November her patience gave out: “‘ I can- 
not forbear any longer telling you, I think you use me very 
unkindly.”’ 

“JT don’t say so much of your absence, as I should do if you 
was in the country and I in London ; because I would not have 
you believe Iam impatient to be in town, when I say I am im- 
patient to be with you; but I am very sensible I parted with 
you in July and ’tis now the middle of November,” she went 
on to say. “As if this was not hardship enough, you do not 
tell me you are sorry for it. You write seldom, and with so 
much indifference as shews you hardly think of me at all. I 
complain of ill health, and you only say you hope ‘tis not so bad 
as I make it. You never enquire after your child. I would 
fain flatter myself you have more kindness for me and him than 
you express ; but I reflect with grief a man that is ashamed of 
passions that are natural and reasonable, is generally proud of 
those that [are] shameful and silly.”’ 


Lady Mary, once having given vent to her feeling of in- 
justice, was not concerned to mince her words: “ You seem 
perfectly pleased with our separation, and indifferent how long 
it continues... . When I reflect on your behaviour, I am 
ashamed of my own: I think I am playing the part of my Lady 
Winchester. At least be as generous as My Lord ; and as he made 





Her Life and Letters 87 


her early confession of his aversion, own to me your incon- 
stancy, and upon my word I will give you no more trouble 
about it... . For my part, as ‘tis my first, this is my last com- 
plaint, and your next of the kind shall go back enclosed to. you 

in blank paper.”’ ' 


88 Lady Mary Wortley Montagu : 


CHAPTER VI 


LADY MARY WORTLEY MONTAGU’S ACCOUNT OF THE COURT OF 
GEORGE I 


LaDy Mary, then, had been in Yorkshire when the Queen 
died, and was still in the country, much against her will, when 
the King arrived on September 18. Soon after, however, she 
came to town, and, so to speak, looked around the Court. Her 
“ Account of the Court of George I”’ is not always accurate, 
and is certainly often prejudiced. It is not the less interesting 
because the writer did not mince her words, even when dis- 
cussing the character of her friend, ‘‘ Dolly ’’ Walpole. Not- 
withstanding, this bird-eye view of the royal and political circles 
at the accession of the first of the Hanoverian monarchs is so 
valuable as to deserve inclusion in this work. 

“The new Court with all their train was arrived before I left 
the country. The Duke of Marlborough was returned in a sort 
of triumph, with the apparent merit of having suffered for his 
fidelity in the succession, and was reinstated in his office of 
general, &c. In short, all people who had suffered any hardship or 
disgrace during the late ministry would have it believed that it 
was occasioned by their attachment to the House of Hanover. 
Even Mr. Walpole, who had been sent to the Tower for a piece 
of bribery proved upon him, was called a confessor to the cause. 
But he had another piece of good luck that yet more contri- 
buted to his advancement, he had a very handsome sister, whose 
folly had lost her reputation in London ; but the yet greater 
folly of Lord Townshend, who happened to be a neighbour in 











Her Life and Letters 89 


Norfolk to Mr. Walpole, had occasioned his being drawn in to 
marry her some months before the Queen died. 

“Lord Townshend had that sort of understanding which 
commonly makes men honest in the first part of their lives ; 
they follow the instruction of their tutor, and, till somebody 
thinks it worth while to show them a new path, go regularly on 
in the road where they are set. Lord Townshend had then 
been many years an excellent husband to a sober wife, a kind 
master to all his servants and dependants, a serviceable relation 
whenever it was in his power, and followed the instinct of nature 
in being fond of his children. Such a sort of behaviour without 
any glaring absurdity, either in prodigality or avarice, always 
gains a man the reputation of reasonable and honest; and 
this was his character when the Earl of Godolphin sent him envoy 
to the States, not doubting but he would be faithful to his orders, 
without giving himself the trouble of criticising on them, which 
is what all ministers wish in an envoy. Robethon, a French 
refugee (secretary to Bernstorff, one of the Elector of Hanover’s 
ministers), happened to be at The Hague, and was civilly received 
by Lord Townshend, who treated him at his table with the 
English hospitality ; and he was charmed with a reception 
which his birth and education did not entitle him to. Lord 
Townshend was recalled when the Queen changed her ministry, 
his wife died, and he retired into the country, where (as I have 
said before) Walpole had art enough to make him marry his 
sister Dolly. At that time, I believe, he did not propose much 
more advantage by the match than to get rid of a girl that lay 
heavy on his hands. 

“When King George ascended the throne, he was sur- 
rounded by all his German ministers and playfellows, male and 
female. Baron Goertz was the most considerable among them 
both for birth and fortune. He had managed the King’s 
treasury, for thirty years, with the utmost fidelity and economy ; 
and had the true German honesty, being a plain, sincere and 
unambitious man. Bernstorff, the Secretary, was of a different 
turn. He was avaricious, artful, and designing, and had 





go Lady Mary Wortley Montagu : 


got his share in the King’s councils by bribing his women. 
Robethon was employed in these matters, and had the 
sanguine ambition of a Frenchman. He resolved there should 
be an English ministry of his choosing ; and, knowing none of 
them personally but Townshend, he had not failed to recom- 
mend him to his master, and his master to the King, as the only 
proper person for the important post of Secretary of State ; and 
he entered upon that office with universal applause, having at 
that time a very popular character, which he might probably 
have retained for ever if he had not been entirely governed by 
his wife and her brother Robert Walpole, whom he immediately 
advanced to be Paymaster, esteemed a post of exceeding profit, 
and very necessary for his indebted estate. 

“ But he had yet higher views, or rather he found it neces- 
sary to move higher, lest he should not be able to keep that. 
The Earl of Wharton, now Marquis, both hated and despised 
him. His large estate, the whole income of which was spent 
in the service of the party and his own parts, made him con- 
siderable, though his profligate life lessened that weight that 
a more regular conduct would have given him. 

“Lord Halifax, who was now advanced to the dignity of 
Farl, and graced with the Garter, and First Commissioner of 
the Treasury, treated him with contempt. The Earl of Notting- 
ham, who had the real merit of having renounced the ministry 
in Queen Anne’s reign, when he thought they were going to 
alter the succession, was not to be reconciled to Walpole, whom 
he looked upon as stigmatised for corruption. 

“The Duke of Marlborough, who in his old age was making 
the same figure at Court that he did when he first came into it 
—I mean, bowing and smiling in the antechamber while Towns- 
hend was in the closet,—was not, however, pleased with the 
Walpole, who began to behave to him with the insolence of new 
favour, and his Duchess, who never restrained her tongue in her 
life, used to make public jokes of the beggary she first knew him 
in, when her caprice gave him a considerable place, against the 
opinion of Lord Godolphin and the Duke of Marlborough. 





SARAH, DUCHESS OF MARLBOROUGH. 
After the Portrait by Michael Dahl in the National Portrait Gallery. 


p. 90. 











Her Life and Letters QI 





‘‘To balance these, he had introduced some friends of his 
own, by his recommendation to Lord Townshend (who did 
nothing but by his instigation). Colonel Stanhope was made 
the Secretary of State. He had been unfortunate in Spain, and 
there did not want those who attributed it toill conduct ; but 
he was called generous, brave, true to his friends, and had an 
air of probity which prejudiced the world in his favour. 

“ The King’s character may be comprised in very few words. 
In private life he would have been called an honest blockhead ; 
and Fortune that made him a king, added nothing to his happi- 
ness, only prejudiced his honesty, and shortened his days. 
No man was ever more free from ambition ; he loved money, 
but loved to keep his own, without being rapacious of other 
men’s. He would have grownrich by saving, but was incapable 
of laying schemes for getting ; he was more properly dull than 
lazy, and would have been so well contented to have remained 
in his little town of Hanover, that if the ambition of those about 
him had not been greater than his own, we should never have 
seen him in England; and the natural honesty of his temper, 
joined with the narrow notions of a low education, made him 
look upon his acceptance of the crown as an act of usurpation, 
which was always uneasy to him. But he was carried by the 
stream of the people about him, in that, as in every action of 
his life. He could speak no English, and was past the age of 
learning it. Our customs and laws were all mysteries to him, 
which he neither tried to understand, nor was capable of under- 
standing if he had endeavoured it. He was passively good- 
natured, and wished all mankind enjoyed quiet, if they would 
let him do so. 

The mistress that followed him hither was so much of his 
own temper, that I do not wonder at the engagement between 
them. She was duller than himself, and consequently did not 
find out that he was so; and had lived in that figure at Han- 
over almost forty years (for she came hither at three score) 
without meddling in any affairs of the Electorate, content with 
the small pension he allowed her, and the honour of his visits 





92 Lady Mary Wortley Montagu : 


when he had nothing else to do, which happened very often. 
She even refused coming hither at first, fearing that the people 
of England, who, she thought, were accustomed to use their 
kings barbarously, might chop off his head in the first fortnight ; 
and had not love or gratitude enough to venture being involved 
in his ruin. And the poor man was in peril of coming hither 
without knowing where to pass his evenings; which he was 
accustomed to do in the apartments of women free from busi- 
ness. But Madame Keilmansegg saved him from this mis- 
fortune. She was told that Mademoiselle Schulenberg scrupled 
this terrible journey, and took the opportunity of offering her 
service to his Majesty, who willingly accepted it, though he did 
not facilitate it to her by the payment of debts, which made it 
very difficult for her to leave Hanover without permission of 
her creditors. But she was a woman of wit and spirit, and knew 
very well of what importance this step was to her fortune. She 
got out of the town in disguise, and made the best of her way 
in a post-chaise to Holland, from whence she embarked with the 
King, and arrived at the same time with him in England ; which 
was enough to make her called his mistress, or at least so great 
a favourite that the whole Court began to pay her uncommon 
respect. 

“This lady deserves that I should be a little particular in 
her character, there being something in it worth speaking of. 
She was past forty ; she had never been a beauty, but certainly 
very agreeable in her person when adorned with youth; and 
had once appeared so charming to the King, that it was said 
the divorce and ruin of his beautiful Princess, the Duke of 
Celle’s daughter, was owing to the hopes her mother (who was 
declared mistress to the King’s father, and all-powerful in his 
Court,) had of setting her daughter in her place; and that 
project did not succeed, by the passion which Madame Kiel- 
mansegg took for M. Kielmansegg, who was a son of a merchant 
of Hamburg, and after having a child by him, there was nothing 
left for her but to marry him. Her ambitions ran mad with the 
disappointment, and died in that deplorable manner, leaving 


Her Life and Letters 93 


£40,000 which she had heaped by the favour of the Elector, to 
this daughter, which was very easily squandered by one of her 
temper. She was both luxurious and generous, devoted to her 
pleasures, and seemed to have taken Lord Rochester’s resolu- 
tion of avoiding all sorts of self-denial. She had a greater 
vivacity in conversation than ever I knew in a German of either 
sex. She loved reading, and had a taste of all polite learning. 
Her humour was easy and sociable. Her constitution inclined 
her to gallantry. She was well-bred and amusing in company. 
She knew both how to please and be pleased, and had experience 
enough to know it was hard to do either without money. Her 
unlimited expenses had left her with very little remaining, and 
she made what haste she could to make advantage of the opinion 
the English had of her power with the King, by receiving the 
presents that were made her from all quarters, and which she 
knew very well must cease when it was known that the King’s 
idleness carried him to her lodgings without either regard for 
her advice, or affection for her person, which time and very bad 
paint had left without any of the charms which had once 
attracted him. His best-beloved mistress remained still at 
Hanover, which was the beautiful Countess of Platen. 

‘“ Perhaps it will be thought a digression in this place to tell 
the story of his amour with her ;_ but, as I write only for myself, 
I shall always think I am at liberty to make what digressions I 
think fit, proper or improper ; besides that in my opinion can 
set the King’s character in a clearer light. That lady was 
married to Madame Kielmansegg’s brother, the most consider- 
able man in Hanover for birth and fortune; and her beauty was 
as far beyond that of any of the other women that appeared. 
However, the King saw her every day without taking notice of 
it, and contented himself with his habitual commerce with 
Mademoiselle Schulenburg. 

“Tn those little Courts there is no distinction of much value 
but what arises from the favour of the Prince, and Madame 
Platen saw with great indignation that all her charms were 
passed over unregarded ; and she took a method to get over 





Q4 Lady Mary Wortley Montagu : 


this misfortune which would never have entered into the head 
of a woman of sense, and yet which met with wonderful success. 
She asked an audience of his Highness, who granted it without 
guessing what she meant by it ; andshe told him that as nobody 
could refuse her the first rank in that place, it was very morti- 
fying to see his Highness not show her any mark of favour ; 
and as no person could be more attached to his person than 
herself, she begged with tears in her fine eyes that he would 
alter his behaviour to her. The Elector, very much astonished 
at this complaint, answered that he did not know any reason he 
had given her to believe he was wanting in respect for her, 
and that he thought her not only the greatest lady, but the 
greatest beauty of the court. ‘Ifthat be true, sire,’ replied she, 
sobbing, ‘why do you pass all your time with Mademoiselle 
Schulenburg, while I hardly receive the honour of a visit from 
you?’ His Highness promised to mend his manners, and from 
that time was very assiduous in waiting uponher. This ended 
in a fondness, which her husband disliked so much that he 
parted with her, and she had the glory of possessing the heart 
and person of her master, and to turn the whole stream of 
courtiers that used to attend Mademoiselle Schulenburg to her 
side. However, he did not break with his first love, and often 
went to her apartment to cut paper, which was his chief employ- 
ment there ; which the Countess of Platen easly permitted him, 
having often occasion for his absence. She was naturally 
gallant ; and, after having thus satisfied her ambition, pursued 
her warmer inclinations. 

“ Young Craggs came about this time to Hanover, where his 
father sent him to take a view of that court in his tour of 
travelling. He was in his first bloom of youth and vigour, and 
had so strong an appearance of that perfection, that it was 
called beauty by the generality of women: though in my 
opinion there was a coarseness in his face and shape that had 
more the air of a porter than a gentleman ; and, if fortune had 
not interposed her almighty power, he might by his birth 
have appeared in that figure; his father being nothing more 





Her Life and Letters 95 





considerable at his first appearance in the world than footman to 
Lady Mary Mordaunt, the gallant Duchess of Norfolk, who had 
always half a dozen intrigues to manage. Some servant must 
always be trusted in affairs of that kind and James Craggs had 
the good fortune to be chose for that purpose. She found him 
both faithful and discreet, and he was soon advanced to the 
dignity of valet-de-chambre. 

“ King James II had an amour with her after he was upon 
the throne, and respected the Queen enough to endeavour to 
keep it entirely from her knowledge. James Craggs was the 
messenger between the King and the Duchess, and did not fail 
to make the best use of so important a trust. He scraped a 
great deal of money from the bounty of this royal lover, and 
was too inconsiderable to be hurt by his ruin; and did not 
concern much for that of his mistress, which by lower intrigues 
happened soon after. This fellow, from the report of all parties, 
and even from that of his professed enemies, had a very un- 
common genius; a head well turned for calculation, great 
industry, and was so just an observer of the world, that the 
meanness of his education never appeared in his conversation. 

“The Duke of Marlborough, who was sensible how well he 
was qualified for affairs that required secrecy, employed him 
as his procurer both for women and money, and he acquitted 
himself so well of these trusts as to please his master, and yet 
raise a considerable fortune, by turning his money in the public 
funds, the secret of which came often to his knowledge by the 
Duke’s employing him. He had this only son, whom he looked 
on with the partiality of a parent, and resolved to spare nothing 
in his education that could add to his figure. 

“Young Craggs had great vivacity, a happy memory, and 
flowing elocution, he was brave and generous, and had an 
appearance of open-heartedness in his manner that gained him 
a universal good-will, if not a universal esteem. It is true there 
appeared a heat and want of judgment in all his words and 
actions, which did not make him valuable in the eyes of cool 
judges, but Madame Platen was not of that number. His 


96 Lady Mary Wortley Montagu : 





youth and fire made him appear very well worthy of his passion- 
ate addresses. Two people so well disposed towards each other 
were very soon in the closest engagement ; and the first proof 
Madame Platen gave him of her affection was introducing him 
to the favour of the Elector, who took it on her word that he 
was a young man of extraordinary merit, and he named him 
for Cofferer at his first accession to the Crown of England, and 
I believe it was the only place that he then disposed of from any 
inclination of his own. This proof of Madame Platen’s favour 
hindered her coming hither. 

“ Bernstorff was afraid she might meddle in the distribution 
of places that he was willing to keep in his own hands ; and he 
represented to the King that the Roman Catholic religion that 
she professed was an insuperable objection to her appearance 
at the Court of England, at least so early; but he gave her 
private hopes that things might be so arranged as to make her 
admittance easy when the King was settled in his new dominions. 
And with this hope she consented without much concern to let 
him go without her; not reflecting that weak minds lose all 
impressions by even short absences. But as her own under- 
standing did not furnish her with very great refinements, she 
was troubled with none of the fears that would have affected a 
stronger head, and had too good an opinion of her own beauty 
to believe anything in England could efface it, while Madame 
Kielmansegg attached herself to the one thing necessary— 
getting what money she could by the sale of places, and 
the credulity of those who thought themselves very polite in 
securing her favour. 

“Lord Halifax was one of this number ; his ambition was 
unbounded, and he aimed at no less than the Treasurer’s staff, 
and thought himself in a fine road for it by furnishing Madame 
Kielmansegg both with money and a lover. Mr. Methuen was 
the man he picked out for that purpose. He was one of the 
Lords of the Treasury ; he was handsome and well-made ; he 
had wit enough to be able to affect any part he pleased and a 
romantic turn in his conversation that could entertain a lady 





Her Life and Letters Q7 


with as many adventures as Othello,—and it is no ill way of 
gaining Desdemonas. Women are very apt to take their lovers’ 
characters from their own mouths ; and if you will believe Mr. 
Methuen’s account of himself, neither Artamenes nor Oroon- 
dates ever had more valour, honour, constancy, and discretion. 
Half of these bright qualities were enough to charm Madame 
Kielmansegg, and they were soon in the strictest familiarity, 
which continued for different reasons, to the pleasure of both 
parties, till the arrival of Mademoiselle Schulenburg, which was 
hastened by the German ministers, who envied the money 
accumulated by Madame Kielmansegg, which they longed to 
turn into another channel, which they thought would be more 
easily drawn into their own hands. They took care to inform 
Mademoiselle Schulenburg of the fond reception all the Germans 
met with in England, and gave her a view of the immense for- 
tune that waited her here. This was enough to cure her fears, 
and she arrived accompanied by a young niece who had already 
made some noise at Hanover. She had projected the conquest 
of the Prince of Wales, and had so far succeeded as to obtain 
his favours for some months, but the Princess, who dreaded a 
rival to her power, soon put an end to the correspondence, and 
she was no longer possessed of his good graces when she came 
hither. 

“J have not yet given the character of the Prince. The 
fire of his temper appeared in every look and gesture ; which, 
being unhappily under the direction of a small understanding, 
was every day throwing him upon some indiscretion. He was 
naturally sincere, and his pride told him that he was placed 
above constraint ; not reflecting that a high rank carries along 
with it a necessity if a more decent and regular behaviour than 
is expected from those who are not set in so conspicuous a light. 
He was far from being of that opinion, that he looked on all 
men and women he saw as creatures he might kick or kiss for 
his diversion ; and whenever he met with any opposition in 
those designs, he thought his opposers insolent rebels to the 
will of God, who created them for his use, and judged of the 

G 








98 Lady Mary Wortley Montagu : 


merit of all people by their submission to his orders, or the rela- 
tion they had to his power. And in this view, he looked upon 
the Princess, as the most meritorious of her sex ; and she took 
care to keep him in that sentiment by all the arts she was 
mistress of. He had married her by inclination; his good- 
natured father had been so complaisant as to let him choose a 
wife for himself. She was of the house of Anspach, and brought 
him no great addition either of money or alliance; but was 
at that time esteemed a German beauty, and had genius which 
qualified her for the government of a fool ; and made her despic- 
able in the eyes of men of sense ; I mean a low cunning, which 
gave her an inclination to cheat all the people she conversed with, 
and often cheated herself in the first place, by showing her the 
wrong side of her interest, not having understanding enough to 
observe that falsehood in conversation, like red on the face, 
should be used very seldom, and very sparingly, or they 
destroy that interest and beauty which they are designed to 
heighten. 

“ Her first thought on her marriage was to secure to herself 
the sole and whole direction of her spouse ; and to that purpose 
she counterfeited the most extravagant fondness for his person ; 
yet, at the same time, so devoted to his pleasures (which she 
often told him were the rule of all her thoughts and actions), 
that whenever he thought proper to find them with other 
women, she even loved whoever was instrumental to his enter- 
tainment, and never resented anything but what appeared to 
her a want of respect for him ; and in this light she really could 
not help taking notice that the presents made to her on her 
wedding were not worthy of his bride, and at least she ought to 
have had all his mother’s jewels. This was enough to make him 
lose all respect for his indulgent father. He downright abused 
his ministers, and talked impertinently to his old grandmother 
the Princess Sophia, which ended in such a coldness towards all 
his family as left him entirely under the government of his 
wite. 

“The indolent Elector contented himself with showing his 


Her Life and Letters 99 


resentment by his silence towards him ; and this was the situa- 
tion the family first appeared in when they came into England. 
This behaviour did not, however, hinder schemes being laid by 
various persons of gratifying their ambition, or making their 

fortunes, by particular attachments to each of the Royal 
Family.” 


100 Lady Mary Wortley Montagu : 


CHAPTER VII 


AT HERRENHAUSEN AND ST. JAMES (1714-1716) 


The Elector George Lewis not delighted at his accession to the British 
throne—A greater man in Hanover than in London—Lady Mary 
modifies her first impression of the King—She is in high favour at 
Court—An amusing incident at St. James’s—The early unpopular- 
ity of George I in England generally, and especially in the capital 
—The Hanoverians in the Royal “Household—The Duchess of 
Kendal—The Countess of Darlington—Lady Mary’s description 
of the Hanoverian ladies—The Duchess of Kendal’s passion for 
money—Her influence with the King in political matters—Count de 
Broglie—The scandal about Lady Darlington refuted—Lady Mary 
and the Prince of Wales—The King and the Prince of Wales—The 
poets and wits of the day—Gay’s tribute to Lady Mary—Pope’s 
verses on her—‘‘ Court Poems.”’ 


IT is beyond question that the accession to the British throne 
gave no thrill of pleasure to the King. He was fifty-four 
years of age, and had no desire to change his state. It was 
necessary for him, as the present writer has said elsewhere, 
now to go from a country where he was absolute, to another 
where, so far from being supreme, when King and people dif- 
fered on a matter of vital importance, the monarch had to 
give way—the price of resistance having been fixed, at worst at 
death, at best exile or civil war. He had to go from a country 
where he was the wealthiest and most important personage to 
another where he would be merely regarded as a minor German 
princeling set up asa figurehead, and where many of the gentry 
were wealthier than he. This point was appreciated by Lady 
Mary when she went to Hanover in November, 1716, for she 
wrote from there to the Countess of Bristol: “ I have now made 
the tour of Germany, and cannot help observing difference 








Her Life and Letters IoI 





between travelling here andin England. One sees none of those 
fine seats of noblemen that are so common among us, nor any- 
thing like a country gentleman’s house, though they have many 
situations perfectly fine. But the whole people are divided into 
absolute sovereignties, where all the riches and magnificence 
are at Court, or communities of merchants, such as Nuremberg 
and Frankfort, where they live always in town for the con- 
venience of trade.” 

Worse than all George must set forth by no means sure of 
his reception, and with no love, nor even liking, for the people 
over whom he was called to reign. That he did go at all is 
greatly to his credit, for he was doubtful if he would be allowed 
to remain, and he never revisited Hanover without some sus- 
picion that he might not be able to return to England. He 
would have been a much happier man if he could have remained 
at his beloved Herrenhausen. He never felt he owed Britain 
anything, and indeed he did not: the throne had been settled 
on his mother, not for love of her, but simply because she was 
the only alternative to the succession of the dreaded Roman 
Catholic heirs. So George came as a visitor, rather submitting 
to be King of England, than anxious for the honour, prepared 
to be forced by circumstances to return, little dreaming that 
two hundred years later his descendants would be firmly seated 
upon his throne. 

It may be mentioned that Lady Mary, as she became 
better acquainted with the King, grewtolikehim. In theletter 
from Hanover just quoted, she says: ‘“‘ His Majesty dines and 
sups constantly in public. The Court is very numerous, and his 
affability and goodness make it one of the most agreeable places 
in the world to me.’”’ The King was indeed at his best when in 
residence at Herrenhausen. Lord Peterborough said that 
George was so happy there that he believed he had forgot the 
accident that occurred to him and his family on the 1st of August, 
1714. 

It may be that, the King having taken a great fancy to Lady 
Mary, modified that lady’s earlier impression. When she and 


102 Lady Mary Wortley Montagu : 


her husband went to Hanover, the King, as she mentioned in 
one of her letters to Lady Bristol, ““ has had the goodness to 
appoint us a lodging in one part of the Palace, without which we 
should be very ill accommodated ; for the vast number of 
English crowds the town so much, it is very good luck to be 
able to get one sorry room in a miserable tavern. I dined to- 
day with the Portuguese ambassador, who thinks himself very 
happy to have two wretched parlours in an inn.” 

Lady Mary was, indeed, in high favour at the Courts of 
Hanover and St. James’s. ‘Mr. Wortley and his lady are 
here,’ the British Minister at Hanover, John Clavering, wrote 
in December, 1716, to Lady Cowper. ‘“‘ They were so very 
impatient to see his Majesty that they travelled night and day 
from Vienna here. Her Ladyship is mighty gay and airy, and 
occasions a great deal of discourse. Since her arrival the King 
has took but little notice of any other lady, not even of Madame 
Kielmansegg, which the ladies of Hanover don’t relish very 
much ; for my part, I can’t help rejoicing to see his Majesty 
prefer us to the Germans.” 

It was evidently before that the following incident occurred. 
Lady Mary often went to St. James’s, but, as it was very dull 
there, was often glad to go instead to some less august and more 
amusing assembly. One evening Lady Mary particularly 
desired to leave early, and induced the Duchess of Kendal to 
persuade the King to dismiss her. The King reluctantly 
acquiesced, though, when Lady Mary made her bow, he declared 
it was an act of perfidy to run away, but, in spite of that and 
other complimentary remarks, she at last contrived to make her 
escape. 

At the foot of the staircase she met Mr. Secretary Craggs, 
who, seeing her leave so early, enquired if the King had retired, 
but she reassured him on that point, and dwelt complacently on 
the King’s reluctance to let her go. Craggs made no remark, 
but took her in his arms, ran upstairs, and deposited her in the 
ante-chamber, whereupon the pages at once threw open the 
doors leading to the King’s apartment. 


Her Life and Letters 103 





“Ah! la re-voila,” cried his Majesty and the Duchess of 
Kendal, and expressed their pleasure that she had changed her 
mind, but Lady Mary was so flustered that, instead of maintain- 
ing a discreet silence she burst out, “‘ Oh, Lord, Sir, I have been 
so frightened!” and related her adventure. 

She had scarcely finished relating her adventure, when the 
door was thrown open, and Mr. Secretary Craggs was announced. 
He entered calmly, and made his bow as if nothing had happened; 
but the King strode up to him, and said angrily: “ Mais, 
comment, donc, Monsieur Craggs, est ce que c'est l’usage de ce pays 
de porter des belles dames comme un sac de froment?” (‘Is 
it the custom of this country to carry about fair ladies as if 
they were a sack of wheat ?’’) The culprit was dumbfounded 
by the unexpected attack, and glanced reproachfully at Lady 
Mary for having betrayed him, but, soon finding his wits, 
parried with, “There is nothing I would not do for your 
Majesty’s satisfaction.”’ 

One of the reasons for the early unpopularity of George I 
was that he brought with him a large suite from Hanover. 

The household that accompanied him numbered sixty-three. 
There was Baron von Kielmansegg, who was Master of the 
Horse; Count von Platen, son of the late Prime Minister of 
Hanover ; and Baron von Hardenburg, Marshal of the Court. 
With them came the Lutheran clergyman, Braun ; a group of 
physicians, surgeons, and apothecaries ; five body-servants, 
including the Turks, Mahomet and Mustapha ; four pages, two 
trumpeters, a carver, twelve footmen, eighteen cooks, three 
cellarmen, two housemaids, and one washerwoman. It may be 
mentioned that in 1696 there were only two washerwomen for 
the three hundred and seven persons, exclusive of royalty, that 
at this date made up the Court of Hanover. 

The political staff that came included twenty-three persons. 
Baron von Bothmer was already in England. Now arrived 
Baron von Bernstorff, Prime Minister of Hanover; Baron von 
Schlitz-Goertz, Hanoverian Finance Minister; Baron von 
Hattorf, Hanoverian Minister of War; and John Robethon. 


104 Lady Mary Wortley Montagu : 





To these men, who advised the King in his capacity of 
Elector of Hanover, there would have been no objection had 
they confined their energies to administering that country. 
This, unfortunately, was not the case. Some ofthem, at least, 
notably Bernstorff and Robethon, meddled in English politics, 
and most of them desired high office, lucrative appointments, 
peerages, and other grants. It is certain that they must have 
known that they were barred from such delights by an Act of 
1700 which carefully guarded against foreigners acquiring any 
share in the government of this country. Nothing, in fact, 
could be more definite than clause three of the ‘‘ Act for the 
further limitation of the Crown ”’: “ No person born out of the 
Kingdoms of England, Scotland, or Ireland, or the dominions 
thereunto belonging (although he be naturalised or made a 
denizen, except such as are born of English parents),”’ so runs 
clause three of the above-mentioned Act, “ shall be capable of 
the Privy Council, or a Member of either House of Parliament, 
or to enjoy any office or place of trust, either civil or military, 
or to have any grant of lands, tenements, or hereditaments from 
the Crown to himself or to any other or others in trust for him.”’ 
Still, Acts of Parliament have been repealed, and the invaders 
may well have hoped that, with the King’s support, their in- 
fluence might increase until they were strong enough to have 
the clause revoked. 

As a matter of fact, nothing of the kind happened, and no 
Hanoverian statesman or court officer was appointed to any 
place of profit under the Crown or rewarded for his services in 
the Electorate by the grant of a British peerage. It may be 
noted that the Hanoverian officials, fond as allGermans were and 
are of wordy distinctions, styled themselves “‘ Koenigliche-Gross- 
britannische - Kurfuerstlich - Braunschweig - Lueneburgische”’ 
(Royal-British-Electoral-Brunswick-Luenburg) councillors or 
magistrates. 

The Hanoverians who were on the political side or held posts 
in the Household might, by the exercise of a little tact, have lived 
down an unpopularity that was the result of circumstances 


Her Life and Letters I05 


rather than arising from any personal animosity. That they 
did not do so may be ascribed partly, anyhow, to their own fault. 

On the other hand, nothing probably would have overcome 
the prejudice against the ladies who followed George to this 
country. These were the Countess Ehrengard Melusina von der 
Schulenburg, who, in 1716, was created Duchess of Munster in 
the Irish peerage, and three years after Duchess of Kendal, by 
which latter title she is more generally known, and the Baroness 
von Kielmansegg (née Platen), who was presently elevated to 
the dignity of Countess of Darlington. It was generally assured 
that these ladies were the King’s mistresses, and they were 
accordingly disliked not only at Court but also by the mob. 
One of them when driving in London was assailed by terms of 
abuse—as she understood scarcely any English, she could only go 
by the tone of the voices—and putting her head out of the coach 
said: “Good people, why abuse us? We come for all your 
goods.’ “Yes, damn you,” cried someone, “‘and for our 
chattels, too.’”’ The manin the crowd only voiced the general 
opinion, and, it must be said, the general opinion was not far 
removed from the truth. 

Of course, the Jacobites made the most of this, and, as 
Horace Walpole has related, “ the seraglio was food for all the 
venom of the Jacobites, and, indeed, nothing could be grosser 
that was vomited out in lampoons, libels, and every channel of 
abuse against the Sovereign and thenew Court and chanted even 
in their hearing in the public streets.” 

It is mentioned in Walpoliana that “this couple of 
rabbits, the favourites, as they were called, occasioned much 
jocularity on their first importation.” Some of the jocularity 
was aroused by their appearance. The style of beauty, or what 
passed for beauty, in each country was markedly different. 
Hear Lady Mary Wortley Montagu writing from Hanover 
in December, 1716: ‘‘ I have now got into the regions of beauty, 
she told Lady Rich. “All the women have literally rosy 
cheeks, snowy foreheads and bosoms, jet eye-brows, and 
scarlet lips, to which they generally add coal-black hair. These 





106 Lady Mary Wortley Montagu : 


perfections never leave them till the hour of their death, and 
have a very fine effect by candle-light, but I could wish they 
were handsome with a little more variety. They resemble one 
another as much as Mrs. Salmon’s Court of Great Britain, and 
are in much danger of melting away by too near approaching 
the fire which they for that reason carefully avoid, though it is 
now such excessively cold weather, that I believe they suffer 
extremely by that piece of self-denial.”’ 

The Duchess of Kendal at the time of the accession of 
George I was forty-seven years of age. The King’s mother, 
the Electress Sophia, had commented on her to Mrs. Howard : 
“Look at that mawkin, and think of her being my son’s 
passion.” Ifa family portrait, now in the possession of Count 
Werner Schulenburg, may be trusted, she was what is called 
“a fine figure of a woman”’; she had blue eyes and fair hair. 
She was so tall that she was nicknamed in England “ the May- 
pole.’’ She was certainly determined to make the most of her 
opportunities, and the more eager because at the beginning of 
the reign she was very doubtful whether George I would not have 
hurriedly to retire to Hanover for good and all. So doubtful 
of the likelihood of the duration of the Hanoverian line in this 
country was she that at first she declined to accompany the 
Elector, and she only changed her mind when she found the 
Baroness von Kielmansegg had decided to go to England. She 
was in high favour with George, and took every advantage of 
herinfluence. She left an immense fortune, which was acquired 
in ways into which aneulogistic biographer of the lady would not 
enquire. Certainly, she received for her good offices large sums 
of money from the promoters of the South Sea Act, she accepted 
bribes to secure peerages, and, it is said on the authority of Sir 
Robert Walpole, that Bolingbroke presented her with £11,000 
to endeavour to secure his restoration to the royal favour. 
It may be remarked, en passant, that Spence records that Lady 
Mary Wortley Montagu said to him: ‘‘I would never be 
acquainted with Lord Bolingbroke, because I always looked 
upon him as a vile man.” 





Her Life and Letters 107 


The Duchess of Kendal was not content with indulging 
her passion for money ; she, in matters of politics, acted as the 
hidden hand behind the throne—any services that she rendered 
were, it is certain, adequately remunerated. Her ascendancy 
over the King was unquestionable, and Walpole was com- 
pelled to admit that she “ was in effect as much Queen of Eng- 
land as ever any was, that he did everything by her.” She 
not only used her power in connection with home affairs, but 
also in matters of foreign policy, and the Count de Broglie, 
French Minister of the Court of St. James, was urgent in his 
endeavours to secure her support. 

““ As the Duchess of Kendal seemed to express a wish to see 
me often, I have been very attentive to her, being convinced that 
it is highly essential to the advantage of your Majesty’s service 
to be on good terms with her, for she is closely united with the 
three ministers who now govern,” the Count wrote to Louis XV 
on July 6, 1724, and four days later returned to the subject : 
“The more I consider state affairs, the more I am convinced 
that the Government is entirely in the hands of Mr. Walpole, 
Lord Townshend, and the Duchess of Newcastle, who are on the 
best terms with the Duchess of Kendal. The King visits her 
every afternoon from five till eight, and it is there that she 
endeavours to penetrate the sentiments of his Britannic majesty 
for the purpose of consulting the three ministers, and pursuing 
the measures which may be thought necessary for accomplish- 
ing their designs. She sent me word that she was desirous of 
my friendship, and that I should place confidence in her. I 
assured her that I would do everything in my power to merit her 
esteem and friendship. I am convinced that she may be ad- 
vantageously employed in promoting your Majesty’s service, 
and that it will be necessary to employ her, though I will not 
trust her further than is absolutely necessary.’”’ To these 
letters Louis replied on July 18: “‘ There is no doubt that the 
Duchess of Kendal, having a great ascendancy over the King of 
Great Britain, and maintaining strict union with his ministers, 
must materially influence their principal resolutions. You will 


SI a 


108 Lady Mary Wortley Montag¢u : 


neglect nothing to acquire a share of her confidence, from a 
conviction that nothing can be more conducive to my interests. 
There is, however, a manner of giving additional value to the 
marks of confidence you bestow on her in private, by avoiding 
in public all appearances which might seem too pointed, by 
which means you will avoid falling into the inconvenience of 
being suspected by those who are not friendly to the Duchess, 
at the same time that a kind of mysteriousness in public on the 
subject of your confidence, will give rise to a firm belief of your 
having formed a friendship mutually sincere.” 

The case of Lady Darlington was different. It was assured 
generally that she, too, was a mistress of the King, a view that 
Lady Mary Wortley Montagu accepted, and one which was 
endorsed by the historians and biographers for more than a 
century. The first English writer to discover the truth was 
Carlyle, who in his Life of Frederick the Great said: ‘‘ Miss 
Kielmansegg, Countess of Darlington, was, and is, believed by 
the gossiping English to have been a second simultaneous Mis- 
tress of His Majesty’s, but seems after all to have been his Half- 
Sister and nothing more.” She was, in fact, a daughter of the 
Countess of Platen (née Clara Elizabeth von Meysenbach), not, 
indeed, by that lady’s husband, but by Ernest Augustus, Duke 
(afterwards Elector) of Hanover, the father of George I. Only 
Lady Cowper seems to have known this, and to have accepted 
itasafact. Yet there was no secrecy concerning the paternity 
of the Countess, and it was, of course, well-known in the 
German Courts. Further, it was overlooked that in the patent 
of nobility in 1721 there is a reference to the royal blood of the 
recipient of the title, and actually the patent, in addition to the 
Great Seal, had a miniature of the King and the arms of the 
houses of Platen, Kielmansegg, and Great Britain (Brunswick- 
Lueneburg) with the bar-sinister.* 





* Refutation of the scandal is to be found in a work published in 
Hanover in 1902; ‘ Briefe des Hertzogs Ernst August zu Braun 
schweig-Liineburg an Johann Franz Diedrich von Wendt aus dem Jahren 
1705 bis 1726,” edited by Erich Graf Kielmansegg. 





Her Life and Letters 109 


All this at this time must have been very distressing to Lady 
Darlington, for she was very careful of her reputation, as the 
following amusing incident, given in Lady Cowper’s Diary (Feb- 
ruary 4, 1716) indicates: ‘‘ Madame Kielmansegg had been 
told that the Prince, afterwards George II, had said that she 
intrigued with all the men at Hanover. She came to complain 
of this to the Princess, who replied, she did not believe the Prince 
had said so, it not being his custom to speak in that manner. 
Madame Kielmansegg cried and said it had made her despised, 
and that many of her acquaintance had left her upon that story, 
but that her husband had taken all the care she could to vindi- 
cate her reputation, and thereupon she drew forth a certificate 
under her husband’s hand, in which he certified, in all the due 
forms, that she had always been a faithful wife to him, and that 
he had never had any cause to suspect her honesty. The 
Princess smiled, and said she did not doubt it at all, and that all 
the trouble was very unnecessary, and that it was a very bad 
reputation that wanted such a support.” 

In appearance, Lady Darlington was a contrast to the 
Duchess of Kendal. She was in her youth a good-looking woman, 
but as the years passed she became immensely corpulent, and 
Horace Walpole, who saw her at his mother’s when he was a 
child, thus described her: ‘‘ Two fierce black eyes, large and 
rolling between two lofty arched eye-brows, two acres of cheeks 
spread with crimson, an ocean of neck that overflowed, and was 
not distinguished from the lower part of her body, and no part 
restrained by stays.’ He christened her ‘ Elephant and 
Castle.”’ 

For a while, Lady Mary was popular also with the Prince of 
Wales, who was attracted by her looks and her vivacity. It is 
recorded that on one occasion when Lady Mary appeared in a 
gown more than usually becoming the Prince called his wife 
from the card table to admire her. The Princess came, 
looked, and then said calmly, ‘‘ Lady Mary always dresses so 
well,’ and went on with her game. 

It was impossible, however, even for the most tactful person 


IIO Lady Mary Wortley Montagu : 


in the world to be on good terms with the King and the Prince 
of Wales. It is said of George I that he was of an affectionate 
disposition and that throughout his life he hated only three 
people in the world: his mother, who was dead, his wife, who 
was imprisoned at Ahlden, and his son. It has been said that 
the trouble began when in his early youth the Prince expressed 
sympathy with his mother ; it may be that it started from the 
fact that the Prince was the son of a woman who had sullied 
the honour of the Royal House. It is, however, unnecessary to 
look for reasons; to hate the heir-apparent was a tradition 
with the Georges. 

Matters did not improve after the accession of George I to 
the British throne. He disliked his daughter-in-law, Caroline, 
daughter of John Frederick, Margrave of Brandenburg-Ans- 
pach, and spoke of her as “ Cette diablesse Madame la Prin- 
cesse.’’ The opposition was not slow to take advantage of the 
rift, and planted itself on the side of his Royal Highness. It 
proposed, on the Civil List vote, a separate revenue of £100,000 
for the Prince—which infuriated the King, as it was intended 
to do. 

In 1716 George was anxious to visit his beloved Hanover, 
but he was torn between the desire to do so and the dislike to 
leave his son in England as Regent during his absence. In- 
deed, he almost decided not to go, unless he could join others 
with the Prince in the administration and limit his authority by 
the most rigorous restriction. To this, however, the Govern- 
ment could not consent, and Townshend stated that ‘“‘on a 
careful persual of precedents, finding no instance of persons 
being joined in commission with the Prince of Wales, and few, 
if any, restrictions, they were of opinion that the constant 
tenour of ancient practice could not conveniently be receded 
from.” 

Lady Mary, like the rest of the world, found the Court dull, 
and she much preferred to spend her time in the more congenial 
society of men of letters. Addison, she knew, and Steele, and 
Arbuthnot, and Jervas, and Gay, who presently paid her a 


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Her Life and Letters III 


pretty compliment in My. Pope’s Welcome from Greece, 
wherein he inserted tributes to the ladies of the Court : 


‘“‘ What lady’s that to whom he gently bends ? 
Who knows her not? Ah, those are Wortley’s eyes. 
How art thou honour’d, number’d with her friends ; 
For she distinguishes the good and wise.”’ 


Pope, too, wrote of her with appreciation : 


TO LADY MARY WORTLEY MONTAGU 


I 
In beauty or wit, 
No mortal as yet 
To question your empire has dared. 
But men of discerning 
Have thought that in learning, 
To yield to a lady was hard. 


II 


Impertinent schools, 
With musty dull rules, 
Have reading to females denied ; 
So Papists refuse 
The Bible to use 
Lest flocks should be wise as their guides, 


III 


*Twas woman at first 
(Indeed she was curst) 
In knowledge that tasted delight, 
And sages agree 
The laws should decree 
To the first possessor the right. 


IV 


Then bravely, fair dame, 
Resume the old claim, 
Which to your whole sex does belong ; 
And let men receive 
From a second bright Eve 
The knowledge of right and of wrong. 


Vi 


But if the first Eve 
Hard doom did receive, 
When only one apple had she, 
What a punishment new 
Shall be found out for you, 
Who tasting, have robb’d the whole tree ! 


I12 Lady Mary Wortley Montagu : 


The acquaintance with Pope began shortly after Lady Mary 
came to town in the autumn of 1714. It soon developed into 
friendship. ‘‘ Lady Mary Wortley,” Jervas wrote to the poet, 
probably in 1715 or early in the following year, “‘ ordered me by 
express this morning, cedente Gayo et ridente Fortescuvio, to send 
you a letter, or some other proper notice, to come to her on 
Thursday about five, which I suppose she meant in the 
evening.” 

There appeared in March, 1716, a volume bearing the title 
Court Poems, the authorship being attributed to “‘ A Lady of 
Quality,’’ who, it soon became known, was Lady Mary. The 
book was issued by Roberts, who had received the three sets of 
verses contained in it from the notorious piratical publisher, 
Edmund Curll. How the manuscript “ fell ’ into the hands of 
Curll it is not easy to imagine. Curll’s account is that they 
were found in a pocket-book taken up in Westminster Hall on 
the last day of the trial of the Jacobite Lord Winton. Anyhow, 
however it came about, the volume was published in 1716, when 
it was found to contain “ The Basset Table,’”’ ‘‘ The Drawing 
Room,” and “ The Toilet.’ 

Curll was an excellent publicity agent for his wares. 
He wrote, or caused to be written, a most intriguing 
“advertisement ”’ about the authorship of the poems: 

“Upon reading them over at St. James’ Coffee House, they 
were attributed by the general voice to be the productions of a 
lady of quality. When I produced them at Button’s, the 
poetical jury there brought in a different verdict; and the 
foreman strenuously insisted upon it that Mr. Gay was the 
man. Not content with these two decisions, I was resolved to 
call in an umpire, and accordingly chose a gentleman of 
distinguished merit, who lives not far from Chelsea. I sent 
him the papers, which he returned next day, with this 
answer: ‘Sir, depend upon it these lines could come from no 
other hand than the judicious translator of Homer.”’ Thus, 
having impartially given the sentiments of the Town, I hope 
I may deserve thanks for the pains I have taken in endeavouring 





Her Life and Letters 113 


to find out the author of these valuable performances, and 
everybody is at liberty to bestow the laurel as they please.”’ 

Pope was furious, and there is a story that he invited Curll 
to drink wine with him at a coffee-house, and put in his glass 
some poison that acted as an emetic. What is certain is that 
the poet wrote a pamphlet with the title, “A full and true 
Account of a horrid and barbarous Revenge by Poison on the 
body of Edmund Curll.” 

The three pieces in Court Poems were claimed by Lady 
Mary as her own, but this claim was disputed. Pope declared 
himself the author of “ The Basset Table,”’ and it was printed 
among his works, and he asserted that “‘The Toilet’ is 
almost wholly Gay’s, there being “ only five or six lines in it by 
thatlady.” ‘ The Toilet ’’ is included in his collected edition 
of Gay’s poems. 

The whole matter is best explained by that sound student 
of the eighteenth century, “‘ George Paston,”’ who suggests that 
the truth seems to be that the verses were handed round in 
manuscript to be read and corrected by the writer’s literary 
friends, and therefore they owe something to the different hands. 
‘George Paston”’ goes on to say: “Lady Mary was not 
unaware of the danger of this proceeding, for Richardson the 
painter relates that on one occasion she showed Pope a copy 
of her verses in which she intended to make some trifling 
alterations, but refused his help, saying, ‘No, Pope, no 
touching, for then whatever is good for anything will pass for 
yours, and the rest for mine.”’ 


H 





II4 Lady Mary Wortley Montagu : 





CHAPTER VIII 


THE EMBASSY TO THE PORTE—I (1716) 


Montagu loses his place at the Treasury—His antagonism against 
Walpole—Lady Mary, ‘“ Dolly ’’ Walpole, and Molly Skerritt 
—The Earl and Countess of Mar leave England—Montagu 
appointed Ambassador to the Porte—Leaves England for Con- 
stantinople, accompanied by his wife—Letters during the 
Embassy to Constantinople—Rotterdam—Vienna—Lady Mary. 
at Court—Her gown—Her interest in clothes—Viennese society— 
Gallantry—Lady Mary’s experience—Count Tarrocco—Precedence 
at Vienna—A nunnery—The Montagus visit the German Courts 
—A dangerous drive—Prince Frederick (afterwards Prince of 
Wales)—Herrenhausen. 


EDWARD WorTLEY Montacu did not long hold office. Lord 
Halifax, First Lord of the Treasury in the Townshend Adminis- 
tration, died in May, 1715, when his place was taken by Lord 
Carlisle, who, however, held it only until the following October. 
Carlisle was succeeded by Sir Robert Walpole, promoted from 
the less important but far more lucrative post of Paymaster- 
General. In the new Commission of the Treasury Montagu’s 
name did not appear. Why Montagu was removed has not 
transpired ; it may, indeed, be that he resigned, for he had a 
strong dislike for the new Minister. There may also have been 
some family sentiment in the matter, for while Lady Mary was 
an intimate friend of Walpole’s harum-scarum sister, “‘ Dolly,” 
who was now Lady Townshend, Lady Walpole was very de- 
cidedly her enemy. Lady Mary presently had her tit-for-tat | 
with Lady Walpole by “ taking up ’’ Walpole’s mistress, Molly 
Skerritt. 

It may be here mentioned that Lady Mar was at this time 





Her Life and Letters II5 


living with her husband at Paris, at St. Germain, and that she 
remained abroad for the rest of her life. She had left England 
owing to the conduct of Lord Mar in taking an active part in 
the rebellion of ’15. He had set up the Pretender’s standard 
at Braemar, had suffered defeat at Sheriffmuir, and had been so 
fortunate as to escape with his master to Gravelines. In grati- 
tude for his services, the Pretender created Lord Mar a Duke. 
Mar lived until 1732, dying at the age of fifty-seven, and he 
spent the years in losing the confidence of the Jacobites and 
endeavouring to ingratiate himself with the Hanoverian Kings 
of England—in which latter quest he was markedly unsuccessful. 
His Scotch estates were confiscated, and his title attained— 
the attainder of the earldom was not reversed until 1824. 

Montagu, having tasted the sweets of office, even so minor 
a place as that of a Lord of the Treasury, was not content to 
enjoy such pleasures as a private life couldafford. He desired 
to be somebody. Probably he worried the Government of the 
day, possibly he pointed out to the leaders of the Whig Party 
that he was possessed of parts that should not, in justice to his 
country, beignored. He may even have approached the Throne. 
It is not inconceivable that he made himself a nuisance to all 
concerned. 

Anyhow, it was ultimately decided that something must be 
done with him. But what? Austria and Turkey were at war 
in 1716; what better than to send Montagu as Ambassador 
to the Porte, with a mission to endeavour to reconcile the 
protagonists ? He was appointed to this post on June 5. 

It was while accompanying her husband on this mission that 
Lady Mary wrote her famous ‘‘ Letters during the Embassy to 
Constantinople,’ which constitute a very important document 
on the state of Europe at the time. It is by no means certain, 
however, that, in the first instance, these reflections were all cast 
in letter-form ; it is much more likely that some were written 
ina diary. The letters appear as addressed to the Countess of 
Bristol, to the Princess of Wales, to Mrs. Thistlethwayte, to 
Lady Rich, to Alexander Pope, to the Abbé Conti, to Miss 


TOS a Lady Mary Wortley Montagu : 


Sarah Chiswell, to Mrs. Hewet, to Lady Mary’s sister, the 
Countess of Mar, and others. 

At the beginning of August, 1716, Montagu, with his wife 
and son, and, it is to be presumed, his suite, left England, and, 
after a very bad crossing, landed at Rotterdam. From that 
city, the cleanliness of which surprised and delighted Lady 
Mary—“ you may see the Dutch maids washing the pavement 
of the street with more application than ours do our bed- 
chambers ’’—the party proceeded by way of the Hague, 
Nimeguen, Cologne, Frankfort-on-the-Main, Wurzberg, and 
Ratisbon to Vienna, where they arrived during the first week in 
September. 

Lady Mary was all impatient to go to Court, for, as she put 
it, “I am not without a great impatience to see a beauty that 
has been the admiration of so many nations,’ but she was forced 
to stay for a gown, without which there was no waiting on the 
Empress. Presently the gown was ready, and Lady Mary was 
presented. 

““T was squeezed up in a gown ”’ (she wrote to her sister, 
Lady Mar), “‘ and adorned with a gorget and the other imple- 
ments thereunto belonging: a dress very inconvenient, but 
which certainly shews the neck and shape to great advantage. I 
cannot forbear in this place giving you some description of 
the fashions here which are more monstrous and contrary 
to all common sense and reason, than ‘tis possible for you 
to imagine. They build certain fabrics of gauze on their 
heads about a yard high, consisting of three or four stories 
fortified with numberless yards of heavy ribbon. The founda- 
tion of this structure is a thing they call a Bourle which is 
exactly of the same shape and kind, but about four times as 
big, as those rolls our prudent milk-maids make use of to fix 
their pails upon. This machine they cover with their own hair, 
which they mix with a great deal of false, it being a particular 
beauty to have their heads too large to go into a moderate tub. 
Their hair is prodigiously powdered, to conceal the mixture, 
and set out with three or four rows of bodkins (wonderfully 


Her Life and Letters II7 


large, that stick [out] two or three inches from their hair), made 
of diamonds, pearls, red, green, and yellow stones, that it 
certainly requires as much art and experience to carry the 
load upright, as to dance upon May-day with the garland. 
Their whalebone petticoats outdo ours by several yards 
circumference, and cover some acres of ground. 

‘You may easily suppose how much this extraordinary dress 
sets off and improves the natural ugliness with which God 
Almighty has been pleased to endow them all generally. Even 
the lovely Empress herself is obliged to comply, in some degree, 
with these absurd fashions, which they would not quit for all 
the world.”’ 


The above passage is the more interesting because it has 
so often been asserted that Lady Mary took no interest in dress. 
As a matter of fact, however, there are several indications in 
her letters that she thought a good deal about clothes. 

“My little commission is hardly worth speaking of; if 
you have not already laid out that small sum in St. Cloud ware, 
I had rather have it in plain lutestring of any colour,’’ she wrote 
in June, 1721, to her sister, Lady Mar, at Paris. 

“ I would have no black silk, having bought here,’’ she said 
on another occasion; and again, “ My paper is done, and I 
will only put you in mind of my lutestring, which I beg you 
will send me plain, of what colour you please.” ‘ Dear 
Sister, adieu,’ she wrotein 1723. ‘“‘I have been very free in this 
letter, because I think I am sure of its going safe. I wish my 
nightgown may do the same: I only choose that as most con- 
venient to you; butifit was equally so, I had rather the money 
was laid out in plain lutestring, if you could send me eight yards 
at a time of different colours, designing it for linings; but if 
this scheme is impracticable, send me a nightgown @la mode.”’ 

Apparently Lady Mar was careless or forgetful of the com- 
mission, for a little later Lady Mary was writing pathetically : 
“I wish you would think of my lutestring, for I am in terrible 
want of linings.”’ 





118 Lady Mary Wortley Montagu : 








The account of the Austrian Court of the day, as given by 
Lady Mary, is invaJuable, for there is no other available written 
by an English person accustomed to another Court. 

Lady Mary’s descriptions of Viennese society are also 
delightful, and if she wrote of the royal circle with respect, she 
bubbled over with merriment when writing of folk less highly 
placed. A letter of hers to Lady Rich is too delicious to be 
omitted. 


““T have compassion for the mortifications that you tell me 
befall our little friend, and I pity her much more, since I know 
that they are only owing to the barbarous customs of our 
country. Upon my word, if she was here, she would have 
no other fault but being something too young for the fashion, 
and she has nothing to do but to transplant hither about seven 
years hence, to be again a young and blooming beauty. I 
can assure you that wrinkles, or a small stoop in the shoulders, 
nay, even grey hair itself, is no objection to the making new con- 
quests. I know you cannot easily figure to yourself a young 
fellow of five-and-twenty ogling my Lady Suffolk with passion, 
or pressing to lead the Countess of Oxford from an opera. But 
such are the sights I see every day, and I don’t perceive any 
body surprised at them but myself. A woman, till five-and- 
thirty, is only looked upon as a raw girl, and can possibly make 
no noise in the world till about forty. 1 don’t know what your 
ladyship may think of this matter; but ‘tis a considerable 
comfort to me, to know there is upon earth such a paradise for 
old women ; and I am content to be insignificant at present, in 
the design of returning when I am fit to appear nowhere else. 
I cannot help lamenting upon this occasion, the pitiful case of 
too many good English ladies, long since retired to prudery and 
ratafia, whom if their stars had luckily conducted hither, would 
still shine in the first rank of beauties ; and then that perplex- 
ing word reputation has quite another meaning here than what 
you give it at London ; and getting a lover is so far from losing, 
that ’tis properly getting reputation ; ladies being much more 





Her Life and Letters IIQ 


respected in regard to the rank of their lovers, than that of 
their husbands. 

“ But what you'll think very odd, the two sects that divide 
our whole nation of petticoats, are utterly unknown. Here 
are neither coquettes nor prudes. No woman dares appear 
coquette enough to encourage two lovers at a time. And I 
have not seen any such prudes as to pretend fidelity to their 
husbands, who are certainly the best-natured set of people 
in the world, and they look upon their wives’ gallants as 
favourably as men do upon their deputies, that take the trouble- 
some part of their business off of their hands; though they 
have not the less to do; for they are generally deputies in 
another place themselves; in one word, ’tis the established 
custom for every lady to have two husbands, one that bears the 
name, and another that performs the duties. And these en- 
gagements are so well known, that it would be a downright 
affront, and publicly resented, if you invited a woman of 
quality to dinner, without at the same time inviting her two 
attendants of lover and husband, between whom she always 
sits in state with great gravity. These sub-marriages generally 
last twenty years together, and the lady often commands the 
poor lover’s estate even to the utter ruin of his family ; though 
they are as seldom begun by any passion as other matches. 
But a man makes but an ill figure who is not in some commerce 
of this nature ; and a woman looks out for a lover as soon as 
she’s married, as part of her equipage, without which she could 
not be genteel ; and the first article of the treaty is establishing 
the pension, which remains to the lady though the gallant 
should prove inconstant ; and this chargeable point of honour I 
look upon as the real foundation of so many wonderful instances 
ofconstancy. I really know several women of the first quality, 
whose pensions are as well known as their annual rents, and yet 
nobody esteems them the less ; on the contrary, their discretion 
would be called in question, if they should be suspected to be 
mistresses for nothing; and a great part of their emulation 
consists in trying who shall get most ; and having no intrigue 





120 Lady Mary Wortley Montagu : 
at all is so far a disgrace that, I’ll assure you, a lady, who is 
very much my friend here, told me but yesterday, how much I 
was obliged to her for justifying my conduct in a conversation 
on my subject, where it was publicly asserted that I could not 
possibly have common sense, that I had been about town above 
a fortnight, and had made no steps towards commencing an 
amour. My friend pleaded for me that my stay was uncertain ; 
and she believed that was the cause of my seeming stupidity 
and this was all she could find to say in my justification.” 


But Lady Mary, though only twenty-seven, and therefore, 
according to her own account, much too youthful for the gallants 
of Vienna, yet had an experience : 


“ But one of the pleasantest adventures I ever met in my 
life was last night, and which will give you a just idea after 
what a delicate manner the belles passions are managed in this 
country. I was at the assembly of the Countess of , and 
the young Count of led me down stairs, and he asked me 
how long I intended to stay here? I made answer that my 
stay depended on the emperor, and it was not in my power to 
determine it. Well, madam, (said he), whether your time 
here is to be long or short, I think you ought to pass it agree- 
ably, and to that end you must engage in a little affair of the 
heart.—My heart (answered I gravely enough) does not engage 
very easily, and I have no design of parting with it. I see, 
madam, (said he sighing,) by the ill nature of that answer, that 
I am not to hope for it, which is a great mortification to me that 
am charmed with you. But, however, I am still devoted to 
your service ; and since I am not worthy of entertaining you 
myself, do me the honour of letting me know whom you like 
best among us, and I’ll engage to manage the affair entirely to 
your satisfaction.—You may judge in what manner I should 
have received this compliment in my own country, but I was 
well enough acquainted with the way of this, to know that he 
really intended me an obligation, and thanked him with a grave 











Her Life and Letters I2I 





courtesy for his zeal to serve me, and only assured him that I 
had no occasion to make use of it. 

“ Thus you see, my dear, gallantry and good-breeding are 
as different, in different climates, as morality and religion. 
Who have the rightest notions of both, we shall never know 
till the day of judgment, for which great day of éclaircissement, 
I own there is very little impatience in your, &c.”’ 


Love-making was indeed one of the principal pastimes at 
Vienna. There was Count Tarrocco (who was in attendance on 
the Prince of Portugal), and, as she told Lady Mar, “just such 
a Roman Catholic as you.” ‘“‘ He succeeds greatly with the 
devout beauties here,’’ she went on to say; “ his first overtures 
in gallantry are disguised under the luscious strains of spiritual 
love, that were sung formerly by the sublimely voluptuous 
Fenelon and the tender Madam Guion, who turned the spirit 
of carnal love to divine objects; thus the Count begins with 
the spirit and ends generally with the flesh, when he makes his 
addresses to holy virgins.’”” Presently, she teased her sister 
about this same young man. “‘ Count Tarrocco is just come 
in,’ shewrote. “He is the only person I have excepted in my 
general order to receive no company—lI think I see you smile— 
but I am not so far gone as to stand in need of absolution ; 
though as my heart is deceitful, and the Count very agreeable, 
you may think that even though I should not want an absolu- 
tion, I would nevertheless be glad to have an indulgence.— 
No such thing. However, as I am a heretic, and you no con- 
fessor, I shall make no more declarations on this head.—The 
design of the Count’s visit is a ball ;—more pleasure—I shall be 
surfeited.”’ 

The “ phlegm of the country ” surprised Lady Mary, who 
declared that it was not from Austria that one could write with 
vivacity—and by her letters at once disproved her statement. 
According to her, amours and quarrels were carried on calmly 
and almost good-temperedly. Strong feelings only came into 
play when points of ceremony were concerned. A man not 





t22 Lady Mary Wortley Montagu : 


only scorned to marry a woman of family less illustrious than 
his own, but even to make love to her—“ the pedigree is much 
more considered by them than either the complexion or 
features of their mistresses. Happy are the shes that can 
number among their ancestors Counts of the Empire; they 
have neither occasion for beauty, money, or good conduct to get 
them husbands.”’ How far this passion for rank and precedence 
went is indicated by an amusing incident related by Lady Mary. 


“’ Tis not long since two coaches, meeting in a narrow street 
at night, the ladies in them not being able to adjust the cere- 
monial of which should go back, sat there with equal gallantry 
till two in the morning, and were both so fully determined to 
die upon the spot, rather thanyield in a point of that importance, 
that the street would never have been cleared till their deaths, 
if the emperor had not sent his guards to part them ; and even 
then they refused to stir, till the expedient was found out of 
taking them both out in chairs exactly at the same moment ; 
after which it was with some difficulty the pas was decided 
between the two coachmen, no less tenacious of their rank 
than the ladies.’’ 


Lady Mary herself was, of course, unaffected, because, as 
the wife of an ambassador, she, by their own customs, had the 
pas before all other ladies—to the great envy of the town. 

Lady Mary, who had had enough of solitude during her long 
residence in Yorkshire, now in Vienna was determined to enjoy 
herself and flung herself into all the social gaieties. She went 
everywhere and met everyone. She dined at the villa of 
Count Schénbrunn, the Vice-Chancellor ; she attended all the 
assemblies of Madame Rabutin and the other leaders of society, 
and all the “ gala days ’”’ ; she danced ; she went to the theatre, 
and, then, as a contrast, to anunnery, which left her unhappy, 
as, indeed, she put on record : 


“I was surprised to find here the only beautiful young 


Her Life and Letters 123 


woman I have seen at Vienna, and not only beautiful, but 
genteel, witty, and agreeable, of a great family, and who had 
been the admiration of the town. I could not forbear shewing 
my surprise at seeing a nun like her. She made me a thousand 
obliging compliments, and desired me to come often. It will 
be an infinite pleasure to me, (said she, sighing,) to see you ; but 
I avoid, with the greatest care, seeing any of my former acquain- 
tance, and whenever they come to our convent, I lock myself 
inmy cell. I observed tears come into her eyes, which touched 
me extremely, and I began to talk to her in that strain of tender 
pity she inspired me with ; but she would not own to me that 
she is not perfectly happy. I have since endeavoured to learn 
the real cause of her retirement, without being able to get any 
other account, but that every body was surprised at it, and 
nobody guessed the reason. 

‘“‘T have been several times to see her ; but it gives me too 
much melancholy to see so agreeable a young creature buried 
alive, and I am not surprised that nuns have so often inspired 
violent passions ; the pity one naturally feels for them, when 
they seem worthy of another destiny, making an easy way for 
yet more tender sentiments ; and I never in my life‘had so little 
charity for the Roman-catholic religion as since I see the 
misery it occasions; so many poor unhappy women! and 
the gross superstition of the common people, who are, some 
or other of them, day and night offering bits of candle to the 
wooden figures that are set up almost in every street. The 
processions I see very often, are a pageantry as offensive, and 
apparently contradictory to all common sense, as the pagods 
of China. God knows whether it be the womanly spirit of 
contradiction that works in me ; but there never before was so 
much zeal against popery in the heart of, 

“Dear madam, &c.” 


In November the Montagus interrupted their stay at Vienna 
to visit some of the German Courts. They went to Prague, 
where the attire of the ladies amused Lady Mary. “Ihave been 





124 Lady Mary Wortley Montagu : 


visited by some of the most considerable ladies, whose relations 
I know at Vienna,” she wrote to Lady Mar. ‘“‘ They are dressed 
after the fashions there, as people at Exeter imitate those of 
London; that is, the imitation is more excessive than the 
original ; ‘tis not easy to describe what extraordinary figures 
they make. The person is so much lost between head-dress and 
petticoat, they have as much occasion to write upon their backs 
‘This is a woman,’ for the information of travellers, as ever 
sign-post painter had to write, ‘ Thisisa bear.’’’ From Prague 
to Dresden, travelling thither by a most alarming route : 


“You may imaginehow heartily I was tired with twenty-four 
hours’ post-travelling [to Dresden], without sleep or refreshment 
(for I can never sleep in a coach, however fatigued). We passed 
by moonshine the frightful precipices that divide Bohemia 
from Saxony, at the bottom of which runs the river Elbe; but 
I cannot say that I had reason to fear drowning in it, being per- 
fectly convinced that, in case of a tumble, it was utterly im- 
possible to come alive to the bottom. In many places the road 
is so narrow, that I could not discern an inch of space between 
the wheels and the precipice. | Yet I was so good a wife not to 
wake Mr. Wortley, who was fast asleep by my side, to make 
him share in my fears, since the danger was unavoidable, till I 
perceived by the bright light of the moon, our postilions 
nodding on horseback, while the horses were on a full gallop, 
and I thought it very convenient to call out to desire them to 
look where they were going. My calling waked Mr. Wortley, 
and he was much more surprised than myself at the situation 
we were in, and assured me that he had passed the Alps five times 
in different places, without ever having gone a road so dangerous. 
I have beentold since it is common to find the bodies of travellers 
in the Elbe; but, thank God, that was not our destiny ; and we 
came safe to Dresden, so much tired with fear and fatigue, it 
was not possible for me to compose myself to write.” 


From Dresden the travellers visited Leipzig, and then went 





COUNTESS OF MAR 


d 


FRANCES 


p. 124. 





Her Life and Letters 7 125 


to Brunswick, and afterwards to Hanover,where they paid their 
respects to George I. It was there that Lady Mary first made 
the acquaintance of the eldest son of the Prince of Wales, 
Frederick Louis, himself presently Prince of Wales and father 
of George III. He was then nine years of age. 


“Tam extremely pleased that I can tell you, without either 
flattery or partiality, that our young Prince has all the accom- 
plishments that it is possible to have at his age, with an air of 
sprightliness and understanding, and something so very engaging 
and easy in his behaviour, that he needs not the advantage of his 
rank to appear charming. I had the honour of a long conversa- 
tion with him last night, before the King camein. His governor 
retired on purpose (as he told me afterwards) that I might make 
some judgment of his genius, by hearing him speak without 
constraint ; and I was surprised at the quickness and politeness 
that appeared in every thing he said; joined to a person 
perfectly agreeable, and the fine fair hair of the Princess.” 


Amazed as Lady Mary was at the size of the Palace at Han- 
over which, she said, was capable of holding a greater court 
than that of St. James’s, and the opera-house which was larger 
than that at Vienna, what principally amazed her was the 
orangery at Herrenhausen and what principally delighted her 
was the use of stoves, then unknown in England. 


“I was very sorry that the ill weather did not permit me to 
see Herrenhausen in all its beauty ; but, in spite of the snow, I 
thought the gardens very fine ”’ (she wrote with enthusiasm to 
Lady Mar). ‘I was particularly surprised at the vast number 
of orange trees, much larger than I have ever seen in England, 
though this climate is certainly colder. But I had more 
reason to wonder that night at the King’s table. There was 
brought to him from a gentleman of this country, two large 
baskets full of ripe oranges and lemons of.different sorts, many 
of which were quite new tome; and, what I thought worth all 





7263 Lady Mary Wortley Montagu : 


the rest, two ripe bananas, which, to my taste, are a fruit per- 
fectly delicious. You know they are naturally the growth of 
Brazil, and I could not imagine how they could come there 
but by enchantment. Upon enquiry, I learnt that they have 
brought their stoves to such perfection, they lengthen the summer 
as long as they please, giving to every plant the degree of heat 
it would receive from the sun in its native soil. The effect is 
very near the same; I am surprised we do not practise in 
England so useful an invention. 

“ This reflection naturally leads me to consider our obstinacy 
in shaking with cold six months in the year, rather than make 
use of stoves, which are certainly one of the greatest con- 
veniences of life ; and so far from spoiling the form of a room, 
they add very much to the magnificence of it, when they are 
painted and gilt, as at Vienna, or at Dresden, where they are 
often in the shape of china jars, statues, or fine cabinets, so 
naturally represented, they are not to be distinguished. If ever 
I return, in defiance to the fashion, you shall certainly see one 
in the chamber of, — 

“Dear sister, &c.” 








Her Life and Letters 127 


CHAPTER IX 


THE EMBASSY TO THE PORTE—II (1717-1718) 


Adrianople—Turkish baths—Lady Mary wears Turkish dress—Her 
description of the costume—Her views on Turkish women— 
She becomes acquainted with the practice of inoculation—Her 
son engrafted—Her belief in the operation—She later introduces 
it into England—Dr. Richard Mead—Richard Steele supports 
her campaign—Constantinople—Lady Mary homesick—Exposes 
the British ignorance of Turkish life—Montagu recalled—Addison’s 
private letter to him—Lady Mary gives birth to a daughter—The 
return journey—The Montagus at Paris—Lady Mary sees her 
sister, Lady Mar. 


THE Montagus returned to Vienna for the new year (1717), 
but late in January went to Peterwaradin, thence to Belgrade, 
and arrived at Adrianople at the end of March. It wasin 
Adrianople that Lady Mary made acquaintance with the Turkish 
Bath, which so impressed her that she sent home a long account 
of it. It was not until about 1860 that they became popular 
in England, a century and a half later. 


“T went to the bagnio about ten o’clock. It was already 
full of women. It is built of stone, in the shape of a dome, 
with no windows but in the roof, which gives light enough, 
There were five of these domes joined together, the outmost 
being less than the rest, and serving only as a hall, where the 
portress stood at the door. Ladies of quality generally give this 
woman the value of a crown or ten shillings ; and I did not for- 
get that ceremony. The next room is a very large one paved 
with marble, and all round it, raised, two sofas of marble, one 


128 Lady Mary Wortley Montagu : 


above another. There were four fountains of cold water in 
this room, falling first into marble basins, and then running on 
the floor in little channels made for that purpose, which carried 
the streams into the next room, something less than this, with 
the same sort of marble sofas but so hot with steams of sulphur 
proceeding from the baths joining to it, it was impossible to 
stay there with one’s clothes on. The two other domes were the 
hot baths, one of which had cocks of cold water turning into it, 
to temper it to what degree of warmth the bathers have a mind 
to. 

‘“T was in my travelling habit, which is a riding dress, and 
certainly appeared very extraordinary to them. Yet there was 
not one of them that shewed the least surprise or impertinent 
curiosity, but received me with all the obliging civility possible. 
I know no European court where the ladies would have behaved 
themse]ves in so polite a manner toastranger. I believe in the 
whole, there were two hundred women, and yet none of those 
disdainful smiles, or satiric whispers, that never fail in our 
assemblies when any body appears that is not dressed exactly 
in the fashion. They repeated over and over to me, “ Uzelle, 
pék uzelle,”’ which is nothing but Charming, very charming.— 
The first sofas were covered with cushions and rich carpets, on 
which sat the ladies; and on the second, their slaves behind 
them, but without any distinction of rank by their dress, all 
being in the state of nature, that is, in plain English, stark 
naked, without any beauty or defect concealed. Yet there was 
not the least wanton smile or immodest gesture amongst 
them. They walked and moved with the same majestic grace 
which Milton describes of our general mother. There were many 
amongst them as exactly proportioned as ever any goddess 
was drawn by the pencil of Guido or Titian,—and most of their 
skins shiningly white, only adorned by their beautiful hair 
divided into many tresses, hanging on their shoulders, braided 
either with pearl or ribbon, perfectly representing the figures of 
the Graces. 

“IT was here convinced of the truth of a reflection I had 





Her Life and Letters 129 





often made, that if it was the fashion to go naked, the face 
would be hardly observed. I perceived that the ladies with the 
finest skins and most delicate shapes had the greatest share of 
my admiration, though their faces were sometimes less beautiful 
than those of their companions. To tell you the truth, [had 
wickedness enough to wish secretly that Mr. Jervas * could have 
been there invisible. I fancy it would have very much im- 
proved his art, to see so many fine women naked, in different 
postures, some in conversation, some working, others drinking 
coffee or sherbet, and many negligently lying on their cushions, 
while their slaves (generally pretty girls of seventeen or eighteen) 
were employed in braiding their hair in several pretty fancies. 
In short, it is the women’s coffee-house, where all the news of 
the town is told, scandal invented, &c.—They generally 
take this diversion once a-week, and stay there at least four or 
five hours without getting cold by immediate coming out of the 
hot bath into the cold room, which was very surprising to me. 
The lady that seemed the most considerable among them, en- 
treated me to sit by her, and would fain have undressed me for 
the bath. I excused myself with some difficulty. They being 
all so earnest in persuading me, I was at last forced to open my 
shirt, and shew them my stays ; which satisfied them very well, 
for, I saw, they believed I was so locked up in that machine, 
that it was not in my own power to open it, which contrivance 
they attributed to my husband.” 


Lady Mary was much amused by this last, and referred to 
the incident in conversation with Joseph Spence. “ One of 
the highest entertainments in Turkey,” she told him, “is having 
you to their baths, and when I was introduced the lady of the 
house came to undress me, which is another high compliment 
that they pay to strangers. After she had slipped off my gown 
and seen my stays she was much struck at the sight of them 
and cried out to the other ladies in the bath ‘ Come hither and 





* Charles Jervas (1675 ?-1739), portrait painter and translator of 
Don Quixote, the friend of Pope. 
I 











130 Lady Mary Wortley Montagu : 





see how cruelly the poor English ladies are used by their hus- 
bands. You need boast indeed of the superior liberties allowed 
you, when they lock you up in a box!’ ”’ 


Lady Mary had a Turkish dress made for her, which she 
frequently wore, when she found that the English costume 


made her unpleasantly conspicuous. ‘‘ The ladies at Con- 
stantinople used to be extremely surprised to see me go always 
with my bosom uncovered,” she noted. ‘“‘ It was in vain that 


I told them that everybody did the same thing among us, and 
alleged everything I could in defence of it. They could never 
be reconciled to so immodest a custom, as they thought it ; 
and one of them, after I had been defending it to my utmost, 
said: ‘Oh, my Sultana, you can never defend the manners of 
your country, even with all your wit ; but Isee that you are in 
pain for them, and shall, therefore, press it no further.’ ” 

Lady Mary was proud of her appearance in her Turkish 
clothes, and has given a minute description of them: 


“The first piece of my dress is a pair of drawers, very full, 
that reach to my shoes, and conceal the legs more modestly than 
your petticoats. They are of a thin rose-coloured damask, 
brocaded with silver flowers, my shoes are of white kid leather, 
embroidered with gold. Over this hangs my smock, of a fine 
white silk gauze, edged with embroidery. This smock has 
wide sleeves, hanging half way down the arm, and is closed 
at the neck with a diamond button ; but the shape and colour 
of the bosom very well to be distinguished through it. The 
antery is a waistcoat, made close to the shape, of white and 
gold damask, with very long sleeves falling back, and fringed 
with deep gold fringe, and should have diamond or pearl 
buttons. My caftan, of the same stuff with my drawers, is a 
robe exactly fitted to my shape, and reaching to my feet, with 
very long strait falling sleeves. Over this is the girdle, of 
about four fingers broad, which all that can afford have entirely 
of diamonds or other precious stones ; those who will not be at 





Her Life and Letters 131 





that expense, have it of exquisite embroidery on satin ; but it 
must be fastened before with a clasp of diamonds. The curdee 
is a loose robe they throw off or put on according to the weather, 
being of a rich brocade (mine is green and gold), either lined with 
ermine or sables; the sleeves reach very little below the 
shoulders. The head-dress is composed of a cap, called ¢alpock, 
which is in winter of fine velvet embroidered with pearls or 
diamonds, and in summer of a light shining silver stuff. This 
is fixed on one side of the head, hanging a little way down 
with a gold tassel, and bound on either side with a circle of 
diamonds (as I have seen several) or a rich embroidered handker- 
chief. On the other side of the head, the hair is laid flat ; 
and here the ladies are at liberty to shew their fancies ; some 
putting flowers, others a plume of heron’s feathers, and, in 
short, what they please; but the most general fashion is a 
large bouquet of jewels, made like natural flowers; that is the 
buds of pearl; the roses, of different coloured rubies; the 
jessamines, of diamonds; the jonquils, of topazes, &c., so well 
set and enamelled, ’tis hard to imagine any thing of that kind 
so beautiful. The hair hangs at its full length behind, divided 
into tresses braided with pearl or ribbon, which is always in 
great quantity.” 


Much that Lady Mary wrote was of great value in exploding 
many ill-founded beliefs at home as regards Turkish life, and 
especially concerning the manners and customs of Turkish 
women. 


“As to their morality or good conduct, I can say, like 
Harlequin, that ’tis just as it is with you; and the Turkish 
ladies don’t commit one sin the less for not being Christians. 
Now I am a little acquainted with their ways, I cannot forbear 
admiring either the exemplary discretion or extreme stupidity 
of all the writers that have given accounts of them. ’Tis very 
easy to see they have more liberty than we have. No woman, 
of what rank soever, being permitted to go into the streets 





132 Lady Mary Wortley Montagu : 


without two muslins ; one that covers her face all but her eyes, 
and another that hides the whole dress of her head, and hangs 
half way down her back, and their shapes are wholly concealed 
by a thing they call a ferigee, which no woman of any sort 
appears without; this has strait sleeves, that reach to their 
finger-ends, and it laps all round them, not unlike a riding- 
hood. In winter ’tis of cloth, and in summer plain stuff or silk. 
You may guess how effectually this disguises them, [so] that 
there is no distinguishing the great lady from her slave. ’Tis 
impossible for the most jealous husband to know his wife when 
he meets her ; and no man dare either touch or follow a woman 
in the street. 

“This perpetual masquerade gives them entire liberty of 
following their inclinations without danger of discovery. The 
most usual method of intrigue is, to send an appointment to 
the lover to meet the lady at a Jew’s shop, which are as notori- 
ously convenient as our Indian-houses; and yet, even those 
who don’t make use of them, do not scruple to go to buy penny- 
worths, and tumble over rich goods, which are chiefly to be 
found amongst that sort of people. The great ladies seldom let 
their gallants know who they are; and it is so difficult to find 
it out, that they can very seldom guess at her name they have 
corresponded with above half a year together. You may easily 
imagine the number of faithful wives very small in a country 
where they have nothing to fear from a lover’s indiscretion, 
since we see so many that have the courage to expose themselves 
to that in this world, and all the threatened punishment of the 
next, which is never preached to the Turkish damsels. Neither 
have they much to apprehend from the resentment of their 
husbands ; those ladies that are rich having all their money in 
their own hands, which they take with them upon a divorce, 
with an addition which he is obliged to give them. 


“Upon the whole, I look upon the Turkish women as the 
only free people in the empire : the very Divan pays a respect to 
them ; and the Grand Signior himself, when a pasha is executed, 





Her Life and Letters 133 





never violates the privileges of the havem (or women’s apart- 
ment), which remains unsearched and entire to the widow. 
They are queens of their slaves, whom the husband has no 
permission so much as to look upon, except it be an old woman 
or two that his lady chooses. ’Tis true their law permits them 
four wives; but there is no instance of a man of quality that 
makes use of this liberty, or of a woman of rank that would 
suffer it. When a husband happens to be inconstant (as those 
things will happen), he keeps his mistress in a house apart, 
and visits her as privately as he can, just as it is with you. 
Amongst all the great men here, I only know the ¢efterdar 
(z.é., treasurer), that keeps a number of she slaves for his own 
use (that is, on his own side of the house; for a slave once 
given to serve a lady is entirely at her disposal), and he is 
spoken of as a libertine, or what we should call a rake, and his 
wife won’t see him, though she continues to live in his house. 

“Thus, you see, dear sister, the manners of mankind do not 
differ so widely as our voyage writers would make us believe. 
Perhaps it would be more entertaining to adda few surprising 
customs of my own invention; but nothing seems to me so 
agreeable as truth, and I believe nothing so acceptable to you.”’ 


The most fortunate thing that happened to Lady Mary, 
and through her to England, during her stay in Adrianople, was 
being made acquainted with the practice of inoculation, then 
widely in vogue in Turkey. Though she had no medical know- 
ledge, she made enquiries as to its effect, and soon became con- 
vinced that it was very highly beneficial. She was the more 
interested because an attack of small-pox had somewhat 
dimmed her beauty. It was to Miss Sarah Chiswell that she 
unburdened herself of the discovery she had made. 


“ Those dreadful stories you have heard of the plague have 
very little foundation in truth. I own I have much ado to 
reconcile myself to the sound of a word which has always given 
me such terrible ideas, though I am convinced there is little 





134 Lady Mary Wortley Montagu : 


more init thanafever. Asa proof of which we passed through 
two or three towns most violently infected. In the very next 
house where we lay (in one of those places) two persons died of 
it. Luckily for me, I was so well deceived that I knew nothing 
of the matter; and I was made believe, that our second cook 
who fell ill here had only a great cold. However, we left our 
doctor to take care of him, and yesterday they both arrived here 
in good health ; and I am now let into the secret that he has 
had the plague. There are many that escape it; neither is 
the air ever infected. I am persuaded it would be as easy to 
root it out here as out of Italy and France ; but it does so little 
mischief, they are not very solicitous about it, and are content 
to suffer this distemper instead of our variety, which they are 
utterly unacquainted with. 

“A propos of distempers, I am going to tell you a thing that 
I am sure will make you wish yourself here. The small-pox, so 
fatal, and so general amongst us, is here entirely harmless by 
the invention of ingrafting, which is the term they give it. 
There is a set of old women who make it their business to per- 
form the operation every autumn, in the month of September, 
when the great heat is abated. People send to one another to 
know if any of their family has a mind to have the small-pox ; 
they make parties for this purpose, and when they are met 
(commonly fifteen or sixteen together), the old woman comes 
with a nut-shell full of the matter of the best sort of small-pox, 
and asks what veins you please to have opened. She immedi- 
ately rips open that you offer to her with a large needle (which 
gives you no more pain than a common scratch), and puts into 
the vein as much venom as can lie upon the head of her needle, 
and after binds up the little wound with a hollow bit of shell ; 
and in this manner opens four or five veins. The Grecians 
have commonly the superstition of opening one in the midde of 
the forehead, in each arm, and on the breast, to mark the sign 
of the cross; but this has a very ill effect, all these wounds 
leaving little scars, and is not done by those that are not 
superstitious, who choose to have them in the legs, or that part 





Her Life and Letters 135 


of the arm that is concealed. The children or young patients 
play together all the rest of the day, and are in perfect health to 
the eighth. Then the fever begins to seize them, and they keep 
their beds two days, very seldom three. They have very rarely 
above twenty or thirty in their faces, which never mark; and 
in eight days’ time they are as well as before their illness. 
Where they are wounded, there remain running sores during 
the distemper, which I don’t doubt is a great relief toit. Every 
year thousands undergo this operation ; and the French em- 
bassador says pleasantly, that they take the small-pox here by 
way of diversion, as they take the waters in other countries. 
There is no example of any one that has died in it; and you 
may believe I am very well satisfied of the safety of this 
experiment, since I intend to try it on my dear little son. 

“Iam patriot enough to take pains to bring this useful inven- 
tion into fashion in England ; and I should not fail to write to 
some of our doctors very particularly about it, if I knew any 
one of them that I thought had virtue enough to destroy such a 
considerable branch of their revenue for the good of mankind. 
But that distemper is 100 beneficial to them not to expose to 
all their resentment the hardy wight that should undertake to 
put anendtoit. Perhaps, if I live to return, I may, however, 
have courage to war with them. Upon this occasion admire 
the heroism in the heart of your friend, &c.”’ 


The immediate history of inoculation, so far as Lady Mary is 
concerned, may here briefly be given. She first heard of the 
practice in March, 1717, and within a year her faith in its effect 
was so strong that in the spring of the following year she had 
her son inoculated at Pera—he was the first English person to 
undergo the operation. ‘‘ The boy was engrafted last Tues- 
day,” she wrote to her husband the following Sunday, “ and is 
at this time singing and playing, and very impatient for his 
supper. .. . I cannot engraft the girl ; her nurse has not had 
the small-pox.”’ It is amusing to learn that the inoculation of 
the young Edward Wortley Montagu proved presently to have 





136 Lady Mary Wortley Montagu : 


an advantage which was certainly not at the time of the opera- 
tion present to the mind of the mother. At the age of six or 
thereabouts, the child ran away from Westminster school—he 
was always running away from school—and a reward of {20 
and expenses was offered to whoever found him. The advertise- 
ment gave the following clue: there are “ two marks by which 
he is easily known, v7z., on the back of each arm, about two 
or three inches above the wrist, a small roundish scar, less than 
a silver penny, like a large mark of the small-pox.”’ 

When Lady Mary returned to London, she carried out her 
intention to introduce the operation. Dr. Maitland, who had 
been physician to the mission to the Porte, set up in practice 
and inoculated under her patronage. The “ heathen rite’’ was 
vigorously preached against by the clergy and was violently 
abused by the medical faculty. Undismayed by the powerful 
opposition, however, she persevered in season and out, until her 
efforts were crowned with success. She was fortunate in enlist- 
ing the co-operation of that distinguished doctor, Richard Mead, 
celebrated by Pope in his “‘ Epistle to Bolingbroke,” 


‘‘ T’ll do what Mead and Cheselden advise.’’ 


Mead, in 1720, when an epidemic of the plague was feared in 
London, published a treatise: ‘‘ A Short Discourse concerning 
Pestilential Contagion and the Methods to be used to Prevent 
it.”’ It was reprinted seven times within a year, and an eighth 
edition appeared in 1722. Lady Mary obtained permission, in 
1721, to experiment on seven condemned criminals. Mead 
supervised the inoculations, and all recovered. In the follow- 
ing year two members of the royal family underwent the opera- 
tion successfully. Thereafter, it became, in most circles, 
fashionable. 


‘“T suppose,’ Lady Mary wrote with pardonable pride to 
Lady Mar in the spring of 1722, “ that the same faithful his- 
torians give you regular accounts of the growth and spreading 
of the inoculation of the small-pox, which is become almost a 








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Her Life and Letters 137 


general practice, attended with great success.”’ Elated asshe 
was at the success that had resulted from her persistent efforts, 
she was correspondingly distressed when a young relative died of 
the disease. “‘I am sorry to inform you of the death, of our 
nephew, my sister Gower’s son, of the small-pox,” she said in a 
letter to Lady Mar in July, 1723. “I think she has a great 
deal of regret it, in consideration of the offer I made her, two 
years together, of taking the child home to my house, where I 
would have inoculated him with the same care and safety I did 
my own. I know nobody that has hitherto repented the opera- 
tion : though it has been very troublesome to some fools, who 
had rather be sick by the doctor’s prescriptions, than in health 
in rebellion to the college.”’ 

Among those who supported Lady Mary’s campaign was 
Steele, who congratulated her upon her “ godlike delight ’’ of 
saving ‘‘ many thousand British lives every year.’’ Hewrote on 
the subject in the Plain Dealer (July 3, 1724), in an article 
that attracted much attention : 


“It is the Observation of some Historian; but I forget 
where I met with it: that England has ow’d to Women the greatest 
Blessings she has been distinguish’d by. In the Case, we are 
now upon, this Reflection will stand justified.— 

“We are indebted to the Reason and Courage of a Lady, 
for the Introduction of this Art ; which gives such Strength in 
its Progress, that the Memory of its Illustrious Foundress will 
be render’d Sacred by it, to future Ages. 

“This Ornament of her Sex, and Country, who ennobles 
herown Nobility, by her Learning, Wit, and Vertues, accompany- 
ing her Consort into Turkey, observ’d the Benefit of this Prac- 
tice, with its Frequency, even among those obstinate Proedest- 
imarians ; and brought it over, for the Service, and the Safety, 
of her Native England ; where she consecrated its first effects 
on the Persons of her own fine Children! And has, already, 
receiv’d this Glory from it, ‘ That the Influence of her example 
has reach’d as high as the Blood Royal.’ And our noblest, and 





ue 


138 Lady Mary Wortley Montagu : 


most ancient Families, in Confirmation of her happy Judgment, 
add the daily Experience of those, who are most dear to them. 

‘““J Have seen a short Poetical Essay, on the Occasion we are 
now treating of. I wou’d say, if I meant the Verses an En- 
comium they shou’d be envied for, ‘ That their Subject need not 
blush at them ! ’ 


On Lady Mary Wortley Montagu’s bringing with her, out of 
Turkey, the Art of Inoculating the Small-Pox. 


When Greece, reviving into short Delight, 

Felt Pride, and Comfort, at Our Muse’s Sight: 
The Rival’d Nine no sooner saw her Face, 

But ev’n their Envy gave their Wonder Place ! 
Charm’d into Love, of what eclips’d their Fame | 
They mak’d Apollo, with her pow’rful Name. 

See |—God of Grecian Wit! Urania cries, 

How sweet a Muse, the Western World supplies | 
Say, shou’d she ask some Favour, from your throne, 
What could you bid her take, that’s not her own ? 
Sparkling in Charms, the heav’nly Stranger view 
So grac’d! she scarce can owe a Beam to You! 
Beauty, with Love, her Pow’r to Yours prefers : 
And Wit, and Learning, are, already, Hers ! 
Rous’d, at hey name,—vreceding from her Eyes, 

The gazing God rose slow, im soft Surprise | 

Fair Miracle, he said,—and paus’d a while : 

Then, thus,—Sweet Glory, of your envied Isle | 
Charm’d, and oblig’d, lest, we ungrateful seem, 
Bear hence, at least, one Mark of our Esteem. 

One, of my three great Claims, your Wish may fit ; 
Whose Voice 1s Musick: and whose Thoughts are Wit ! 
Physick, alone, remains, to grant you, here— 

A Skill | your godlike Pity will endear. 

Form’d to give Wounds, which must no Ease procure, 
Atone your Influ’nce, by new Arts, to cure, 
Beauty’s chief Foe, a fear'd, and fierce Disease ! 
Bows, at my Beck; and knows tts God’s Decrees. 
Breath’d, in this Kiss, take Pow’r to tame its Rage : 
And, from tts Rancour, free the vescu’d Age. 

High, o’er each Sex, in Double Empire, fit : 
Protecting Beauty, and inspiring Wit. 


When Lady Mary had been abroad for a year, she became 
homesick and began to long for England. It was really very 
dull for her in Turkey, even though she could pass the time of 
day in the language of the country. Supervising the nurses 














Her Life and Letters 139 


of her child did not take a large share of her time; and she 
found only a mild excitement in going into the bazaar in native 
woman’s attire to collect Oriental rugs and whatnot. 


“To say truth, I am sometimes very weary of this singing, 
and dancing, and sunshine, and wish for the smoke and im- 
pertinencies in which you toil, though I endeavour to persuade 
myself that I live in a more agreeable variety than you do; and 
that Monday, setting of partridges—Tuesday, reading English 
—Wednesday, studying the Turkish language (in which, by 
the way, I am already very learned)—Thursday, classical 
authors—Friday, spent in writing—Saturday, at my needle— 
and Sunday, admitting of visits, and hearing music, is a 
better way of disposing the week, than Monday, at the drawing- 
room—Tuesday, Lady Mohun’s—Wednesday, the opera— 
Thursday, the play—Friday, Mrs. Chetwynd’s, &c., a perpetual 
round of hearing the same scandal, and seeing the same follies 
acted over and over, which here affect me no more than they do 
other dead people. I can now hear of displeasing things with 
pity, and without indignation. The reflection on the great 
gulf between you and me, cools all news that come hither. I 
can neither be sensibly touched with joy nor grief, when I 
consider that possibly the cause of either is removed before the 
letter comes to my hands. But (as I said before) this indolence 
does not extend to my few friendships; I am still warmly 
sensible of yours and Mr. Congreve’s, and desire to live in your 
remembrances, though dead to all the world beside.”’ 


There is no doubt that it was to her pen that Lady Mary had 
recourse in her endeavours to overcome ennui. A perusal of 
the letters written during this first sojourn in Europe shows that 
nothing escaped her eye, trivial or serious, from the washing of 
the Rotterdam pavements to the dwarfs at the Court of Vienna. 
from the palaces of the great tothe cosmetics used by the women. 

Occasionally Lady Mary became impatient at the ignorance 
of her friends as regards the Near East. 





I40 Lady Mary Wortley Montagu : 


“T heartily beg your ladyship’s pardon ; but I really could 
not forbear laughing heartily at your letter, and the commissions 
you are pleased to honour me with ” (she wrote to one of her 
acquaintances from Belgrade Village in June, 1717). 

“You desire me to buy you a Greek slave, who is to be 
mistress of a thousand good qualities. The Greeks are subjects, 
and not slaves. Those who are to be bought in that manner, 
are either such as are taken in war, or stolen by the Tartars from 
Russia, Circassia, or Georgia, and are such miserable, awkward, 
poor wretches, you would not think any of them worthy to be 
your housemaids. ’Tis true that many thousands were taken 
in the Morea ; but they have been, most of them, redeemed by 
the charitable contributions of the Christians, or ransomed 
by their own relations at Venice. The fine slaves that wait 
upon the great ladies, or serve the pleasures of the great men, 
are all bought at the age of eight or nine years old, and educated 
with great care, to accomplish them in singing, dancing, em- 
broidery, &c. They are commonly Circassians, and their 
patron never sells them, except it is as a punishment for some 
very great fault. If ever they grow weary of them, they either 
present them to a friend, or give them their freedom. Those 
that are exposed to sale at the markets are always either guilty 
of some crime, or so entirely worthless that they are of no use 
at all. JI am afraid you will doubt the truth of this account, 
which I own is very different from our common notions in 
England ; but it is no less truth for all that. 

“Your whole letter is full of mistakes from one end to the 
other. I see you have taken your ideas of Turkey from that 
worthy author Dumont, who has written with equal ignorance 
and confidence. ’Tis a particular pleasure to me here, to read 
the voyages to the Levant, which are generally so far removed 
from the truth, and so full of absurdities, Iam very well diverted 
with them. They never fail giving you an account of the women, 
whom ’tis certain they never saw, and talking very wisely of 
the genius of the men, into whose company they are never 
admitted ; and very often describe mosques, which they dare 





Her Life and Letters I4I 


not peepinto. The Turks are very proud, and will not converse 
with a stranger they are not assured is considerable in his own 
country. I speak of the men of distinction; for, as to the 
ordinary fellows, you may imagine what ideas their conversation 
can give of the general genius of the people. 

“Tam more inclined, out of a true female spirit of contra- 
diction, to tell you the falsehood of a great part of what you 
find in authors ; as, for example, in the admirable Mr. Hill, who 
so gravely asserts, that he saw in Sancta Sophia a sweating 
pillar, very balsamic for disordered heads. There is not the 
least tradition of any such matter ; and I suppose it was revealed 
to him in a vision during his wonderful stay in the Egyptian 
catacombs ; for I am sure he never heard of any such miracle 
here. 

“Tis also very pleasant to observe how tenderly he and all 
his brethren voyage-writers lament the miserable confinement 
of the Turkish ladies, who are perhaps freer than any ladies 
in the universe, and are the only women in the world that 
lead a life of uninterrupted pleasure exempt from cares ; their 
whole time being spent in visiting, bathing, or the agreeable 
amusement of spending money, and inventing new fashions. 
A husband would be thought mad that exacted any degree 
of economy from his wife, whose expenses are no way limited 
but by her own fancy. ’Tis his business to get money, and hers 
to spend it : and this noble prerogative extends itself to the 
very meanest of the sex. Here is a fellow that carries em- 
broidered handkerchiefs upon his back to sell, as miserable a 
figure as you may suppose such a mean dealer, yet I’ll assure 
you his wife scorns to wear anything less than cloth of gold ; has 
her ermine furs, and a very handsome set of jewels for her head. 
They go abroad when and where they please. ‘lis true they 
have no public places but the bagnios, and there can only be 
seen by their own sex ; however, that is a diversion they take 
great pleasure in.”’ 


In the meantime, Montagu’s conduct of affairs was much 


142 Lady Mary Wortley Montagu : 


criticised at home, and Lord Stanhope’s Administration, which 
had come into power in April, 1717, decided to recallhim. This 
invidious task fell upon his old friend Addison, now Secretary 
of State for the Southern Department. The recall was notified 
to those concerned in a circular letter dated October 13. 
Addison, in a private letter dated September 28, notified him of 
the impending change : 


“Having been confined to my chamber for some time by 
a dangerous fit of sickness, I find, upon my coming abroad, some 
things have passed which I think myself obliged to communicate 
to you, not as the Secretary to the Ambassador, but as an 
humble servant to his friend. . . . Our great men are of opinion 
that your being possessed [of the reversion of certain places] 
(which they look upon as sure and sudden) it would be agreeable 
to your inclinations, as well as for the King’s service, which 
you are so able to promote in Parliament, rather to return to 
your own country than to live at Constantinople. For this 
reason, they have thought of relieving Mr. Stanyan, who is now 
at the Imperial Court, and of joining Sir Robert Sutton with 
him in the mediation of a peace between the Emperor and the 
Turks. I need not suggest to you that Mr. Stanyan is in great 
favour at Vienna, and how necessary it is to humour that Court 
in the present juncture. Besides, as it would have been for 
your honour to have acted as sole mediator in such a negotia- 
tion, perhaps it would not have been so agreeable to you to act 
only in commission. This was suggested to me the other day 
by one of our first ministers, who told me that he believed Sir 
R. Sutton’s being joined in a mediation, which was carried on 
by my Lord Paget singly, would be shocking to you, but that 
they could be more free with a person of Mr. Stanyan’s quality. 
I find by his Majesty’s way of speaking of you, that you are 
much in his favour and esteem, and I fancy you would find your 
ease and advantage more in being nearer his person than at the 
distance you are from him at present. I omit no opportunity 
of doing you justice where I think it is for your service, and wish 





Her Life and Letters 143 


I could know your mind as to these several particulars by a 
more speedy and certain conveyance, that I might act accord- 
ingly to the utmost of my powers. Madame Kielmansegg and 
my Lady Hervey desire me to forward the enclosed to my Lady 
Mary Wortley, to whom I beg you will deliver them with my 
most humble regards.”’ 


What Montagu’s feelings were can only be imagined. It is 
almost certain that he felt himself vastly aggrieved. Nothing 
could have been more delicate or complimentary than Addi- 
son’s letter, but it did not, and could not, disguise the main 
fact. It was easy for the Secretary of State to suggest that at 
least one reason for the recall was that Montagu must be anxious 
to return, but that certainly could not have deceived the 
Ambassador who was, indeed, so little anxious to get home that 
he remained at Constantinople until the following June. 
Likewise, the statement that he would be able to promote the 
King’s service in Parliament, flattering as it read, meant, of 
course, nothing at all. Certainly, though Montagu sat in the 
House of Commons until his death, office was never offered 
him in any Administration. _ 

Lady Mary found herself again with child. Whether this 
pleased her or not no one can say, but in a letter to Mrs. 
Thistlethwayte she treated the incident divertingly enough. 


“I wish I could return your goodness with some diverting 
accounts from hence. But I know not what part of the 
scenes here would gratify your curiosity, or whether you have 
any curiosity at all for things so far distant. To say the truth, 
I am, at this present writing, not very much turned for the 
recollection of what is diverting, my head being wholly filled 
with the preparations necessary for the increase of my family, 
which I expect every day. You may easily guess at my 
uneasy situation. But I am, however, in some degree com- 
forted, by the glory that accrues to me from it, and a reflection 
on the contempt I should otherwise fall under. You won’t 


144 Lady Mary Wortley Montagu : 


know what to make of this speech: but, in this country, it 
is more despicable to be married and not fruitful, than it is 
with us to be fruitful before marriage. They have a notion, 
that, whenever a woman leaves off bringing children, it is 
because she is too old for that business, whatever her face says 
to the contrary, and this opinion makes the ladies here so ready 
to make proofs of their youth (which is as necessary, in order 
to be a received beauty, as it is to shew the proofs of nobility, 
to be admitted knight of Malta), that they do not content 
themselves with using the natural means, but fly to all sorts of 
quackeries, to avoid the scandal of being past child-bearing, and 
often kill themselves by them. Without any exaggeration, 
all the women of my acquaintance that have been married ten 
years, have twelve or thirteen children; and the old ones 
boast of having had five-and-twenty or thirty a-piece, and are 
respected according to the number they have produced. When 
they are with child, it is their common expression to say, They 
hope God will be so merciful to them to send two this time; 
and when I have asked them sometimes, How they expected 
to provide for such a flock as they desire? they answered, 
That the plague will certainly kill half of them ; which, indeed, 
generally happens, without much concern to the parents, who 
are satisfied with the vanity of having brought forth so 
plentifully. 

“The French Ambassadress is forced to comply with this 
fashion as well as myself. She has not been here much above 
a year, and has lain in once, and is big again. What is most 
wonderful is, the exemption they seem to enjoy from the 
curse entailed on the sex. They see all company the day of 
their delivery, and, at the fortnight’s end, return visits, set out 
in their jewels and new clothes. I wish I may find the influence 
of the climate in this particular. But I fear I shall continue 
an Englishwoman in that affair.”’ 


Lady Mary gave birth to a daughter, Mary, in February. “I 
don’t mention this as one of my diverting adventures,” she 








Her Life and Letters 145 





wrote to Lady Mar, “ though I must own that it is not half so 
mortifying here as in England, there being as much difference 
as there is between a little cold in the head, which sometimes 
happens here, and the consumptive cough, so common in 
London. Nobody keeps their house a month for lying in ; 
and I am not so fond of any of our customs to retain them 
when they are not necessary. I returned my visits at three 
weeks’ end.”’ 

So soon as possible after this domestic event, preparations 
for the return journey were made. The party went by sea to 
Tunis, thence to Genoa, Turin, Lyons, and Paris. Their 
arrival at Parisin October was notified by Lady Mar to her hus- 
band: “ You'll be surprised to hear 657 [7.e., Lady Mary] is 
here. She arrived the day after me. You may believe how 
much incognito I am. ’Twas in vain to attempt being so. 
’Twould fill a whole letter to tell you the people that have been 
to see me. I was very much pleased at seeing 657 and she 


appeared to be the same.”” The sisters had not met for three 
years. 





146 Lady Mary Wortley Montagu : 


CHAPTER X 
A SCANDAL 


Montagu re-enters the House of Commons—His miserliness—Pope 
refers to it—Comments on Society—Lady Mary and a first- 
class scandal—Rémond—His admiration for her—Her imprudent 
letters to him—The South Sea Bubble—Lady Mary speculates for 
Rémond—She loses money for him—He demands to be re- 
imbursed—He threatens to publish her letters—She states the case. 
in letters to Lady Mar—Lady Mary meets Pope—His letters to her 
when she was abroad—He affects to be in love with her—Her 
matter-of-fact replies—Her parody of his verses, ““On John Hughes 
and Sarah Drew.”’ 


MonrTAGU, on his return to England, again entered the House of 
Commons, where he represented Huntingdon from 1722 to 
1734, and then for Peterborough from 1734 to 1747 and from 
1754 to 1761. Whether it was lack of ambition or just want of 
appreciation of his talents by the leaders of his party, there is 
no evidence. Even with his family connections and his wealth, 
he was never offered a place in any Administration, nor, it must 
be confessed, did he in any way distinguish himself in Parlia- 
ment. As the years passed, his chief pleasure, if indeed it was 
not his only one, was in the hoarding of money—in this pursuit 
he was splendidly successful. From references to Lady Mary 
in contemporary correspondence, it would appear that she too 
had no small streak of the miserin her. Pope, after his quarre] 
with her, referred to Montagu as ‘‘ Worldly,” “‘ Shylock,” and 
‘“Gripus,’”’ and in the fourth Epistle of the Essay on Man 
wrote : 


“Is yellow dirt the passion of thy life ? 
Look but on Gripus and Gripus’ wife.” 





Her Life and Letters 147 


Also he lampooned them under the style of Avidieu and 
Avidieu ’s wife, who 


“ Sell their presented partridges or fruits, 
And humbly live on rabbits and on roots ; 
One half-pint bottle serves them both to dine, 
And is at once their vinegar and wine. 
But on some lucky day (as when they found 
A lost bank note, or heard their son was drowned), 
At such a feast old vinegar to spare 
Is what two souls so generous cannot bear : 
Oil, though it stink, they drop by drop impart, 
But souse the cabbage with a bounteous heart.”’ 


Lady Mary took her place, as of right, as a leader of society, 
and for a while plunged into the gaieties of the town. ‘“ Pub- 
lic places flourish more than ever,” she wrote to her sister. 
“We have assemblies for every day in the week, besides Court, 
operas, and masquerades. With youth and money, ’tis cer- 
tainly possible to be well diverted in spite of malice and ill- 
nature, though they are more and more powerful every day. 
For my part, as it is my established opinion that this globe of 
ours is no better than a Holland cheese, and the walkers about 
in it mites, I possess my soul in patience, let what will happen— 
and I should feel tolerably easy, though a great rat came 
and ate half of it.”” That is a philosophical outlook with a 
vengeance ! 


However, Lady Mary managed on the whole to enjoy her- 
self. ‘“‘ The town improves in gaiety every day; the young 
people are younger than they used to be, and all the old are 
grown young. Nothing is talked of but entertainments of 
gallantry by land and water, and we insensibly begin to taste 
all the joys of arbitrary power. Politics are no more ; nobody 
pretends to wince or kick under their burdens ; but we go on 
cheerfully with our bells at our ears, ornamented with ribands, 
and highly contented with our present condition ; so much for 
the general state of the nation,’’ she made her comment on 
polite circles. ‘“‘ We are much mistaken here as to our ideas of 
Paris—to hear gallantry has deserted it, sounds as extraordinary 





148 Lady Mary Wortley Montagu : 


to me as a want of ice in Greenland. We have nothing but 
ugly faces in this country, but more lovers than ever. There 
are but three pretty men in England, and they are all in love with 
me, at this present writing. This will amaze you extremely ; 
but if you were to see the reigning girls at present, I will assure 
you, there is very little difference between them and old women.” 


Lady Mary could never resist a good story, and, indeed, 
never made any attempt to do so, and she usually wrote them 
down to amuse Lady Mar. 


‘““’Tis but reasonable I should conclude with a farce, that 
I may not leave you in ill humour. I have so good an opinion 
of your taste, to believe Harlequin in person will never make you 
laugh so much as the Earl of Stair’s furious passion for Lady 
Walpole (aged fourteen and some months). Mrs. Murray under- 
took to bring the business to bear, and provided the oppor- 
tunity (a great ingredient you'll say); but the young lady 
proved skittish. She did not only turn this heroic flame into 
present ridicule, but exposed all his generous sentiments, to 
divert her husband and father-in-law. His lordship is gone 
to Scotland; and if there was anybody wicked enough to 
write about it, there is a subject worthy the pen of the best 
ballad-maker in Grub-street.”’ 


‘““ Lord Townshend has renewed his lease of life by his French 
journey, and is at present situated in his house in Grosvenor- 
street in perfect health. My good lady is coming from the 
Bath to meet him with the joy you may imagine. Kitty Edwin 
has been the companion of his [her ?] pleasures there. The 
alliance seems firmer than ever between them, after their Tun- . 
bridge battles, which served for the entertainment of the public. 
The secret cause is variously guessed at; but it is certain Lady 
Townshend came into the great room gently behind her friend, 
and tapping her on the shoulder with her fan, said aloud, 
I know where, how, andwho. These mysterious words drew the 





Her Life and Letters 149 


attention of all the company, and had such an effect upon poor 
Kitty, she was carried to her lodgings in strong hysterics. 
However, by the intercession of prudent mediators peace was 
concluded ; and if the conduct of these heroines was considered 
in a true light, perhaps it might serve for an example even to 
higher powers, by showing that the surest method to obtain a 
lasting and honourable peace, is to begin with vigorous war. 
But leaving these reflections, which are above my capacity, 
permit me to repeat my desire of hearing often from you. Your 
letters would be my greatest pleasure if I had flourished in the 
first years of Henry the Eighth’s court ; judge then how welcome 
they are to me in the present desolate state of this deserted town 
of London.” 


Lady Mary’s own morals were more than once assailed ; but 
this did not prevent her humorous attack on society at large: 
“ Those things [Bills of Divorce] grow more fashionable every 
day, and in a little time won’t be at all scandalous. The best 
expedient for the public, and to prevent the expense of private 
families, would be a general act of divorcing all the people of 
England. You know those that pleased might marry again ; 
and it would save the reputation of several ladies that are now 
in peril of being exposed every day.” 

Not long after Lady Mary had returned to England, about 
the winter of 1720, she, who loved to retail malicious stories 
about others, found herself, to her great dismay, the subject of 
a first-class scandal. 

When Lady Mary was in Paris, Rémond was introduced to 
her by the Abbé Conti. He had seen a letter or two addressed 
by her to the Abbé, and expressed himself with enthusiasm of 
her brilliance as a correspondent. Presently he came to 
England, and sought out Lady Mary, who was no more im- 
mune from flattery than most folk of either sex. How far the 
intimacy developed from the platonic to the amorous it is im- 
possible to say. That Rémond made love to her there can be 
little doubt. Sir Leslie Stephen holds the view that she did not 





150 Lady Mary Wortley Montagu : 


encourage his passion. Anyhow, it is beyond question that she 
wrote him imprudent letters, which he was prudent enough to 
keep. 

Lady Mary basked in the admiration of Rémond, and thought 
to reward him for his intelligence, at no cost to herself, by 
putting him on to “a good thing.” Also, getting a little fear- 
some of his very marked attentions, or perhaps it was only 
wearying of them, she thought, as she confessed to her sister, 
the Countess of Mar, it would be the more easy to rid herself 
of this somewhat turbulent lover. 

At this time the famous ‘“‘ boom ”’ known as the South Sea 
Bubble was at the height of its brief career. The South Sea 
Company had taken over the National Debt, on terms, and its 
stock, carefully manipulated, rose by leaps and bounds. 
In 1714 the stock stood at 85. After the defeat of the rebellion 
of 1715, it was quoted at prices varying from par to 106. 
In the autumn of 1719, when rumours of its great scheme were 
spread about the town, it rose to 126. Early in the following 
year it could not be purchased for less than 400. It fluctuated 
wildly, going up and down hundreds of points. On June 2, 
1720, it went up in the morning to 890, in the afternoon fell to 
640 ; and many who were speculating in differences were utterly 
ruined. Later in the day it recovered, though only to 770, 
Ultimately it rose to 1,000. Of course the prices were fictitious, 
but everyone in society tried their luck, and while some came 
out of it with a fortune, the majority lost practically every 
penny they had. The directors, most of whom were guilty of 
fraud, made vast sums of money. That astute financier, 
Robert Walpole, speculated on a vast scale, sold out before the 
slump, and realised a fortune more than sufficient to enable him 
to rebuild Houghton and to gather together his famous col- 
lection of pictures. On the other hand the Duke of Portland, 
who held on too long, was so hard hit that he had to solicit the 
post of Captain-General of Jamaica. 

Rémond held some South Sea stock, and, acting on Lady 
Mary’s advice, sold out at a considerable profit. Not content 





Lapy Mary WorTLEY MONTAGU. 


p. 150. 





Her Life and Letters I5I 


with his gains, however, he insisted, just before his departure 
for France, on leaving in Lady Mary’s hands {£900 for invest- 
ment as opportunity should arise. Reluctantly Lady Mary 
consented—she would probably have agreed almost to anything, 
SO anxious was she that Rémond should leave the country. 

On August 22, 1720, Pope, with the best intentions in the 
world, wrote to Lady Mary: “I was made acquainted last night 
that I might depend upon it as a certain gain to buy the South 
Sea stock at the present price, which will assuredly rise in some 
weeks or less. I can be as sure of this as the nature of any such 
thing will allow, from the first and best hands, and therefore 
have despatched the bearer with all speed to you.”’ No doubt 
the phrase “ the first and best hands,”’ was intended to convey 
the fact that his informant was his friend and neighbour, 
James Craggs the younger, the Secretary of State who was so 
deeply involved in the affairs of the South Sea Company that 
when the “ bubble ” burst he only escaped prosecution by con- 
veniently dying of small-pox. Acting on the hint given by 
Pope, Lady Mary purchased stock for herself and Rémond. The 
stock fell rapidly—in August it stood at 750 and in December at 
130. What she lost is not known, but she had been sufficiently 
involved to make her desire to sell her diamonds, and more than 
once she asked Lady Mar if there was a market for the jewels 
in Paris. Rémond’s £900 had dwindled to £400. On receiving 
these distressful tidings, the Frenchman believed, or affected 
to believe, that he had been swindled, and he threatened, 
unless he were repaid in full, he would publish Lady Mary’s 
letters to him. Lady Mary’s fear was lest the matter should 
come to the cognisance of her husband: it would certainly be 
unfair to Montagu to suggest that he might not have forgiven 
his wife for a love-affair; but he would certainly never have 
pardoned her any transaction that cost him money. 

Many malicious things were said about this business. Wal- 
pole gave a version utterly discreditable to Lady Mary, and 
Pope, after the quarrel, referred to the matter in the second 
book of the Dunciad : 


152 Lady Mary Wortley Montagu : 


‘‘ Whence hapless Monsieur much complains at Paris 
Of wrongs from Duchesses and Lady Maries.” 


The case was put by Lady Mary in a series of letters to her 
sister, Lady Mar, to whom she could unburden herself freely, 
and who might be able to influence Rémond, who was then at 
Paris. 

[I72I. } 

“From the tranquil and easy situation in which you left 
me, dear sister, I am reduced to that of the highest degree of 
vexation, which I need not set out to you better than by the 
plain matter of fact, which I heartily wish I had told you long 
since ; and nothing hindered me but a certain mauvaise honte 
which you are reasonable enough to forgive, as very natural, 
though not very excusable where there is nothing to be ashamed 
of; since I can only accuse myself of too much good-nature, 
or at worst too much credulity, though I believe there never 
was more pains taken to deceive any body. In short, a person 
whose name is not necessary, because you know it, took all 
sorts of methods, during almost two years [sic], to persuade me 
that there never was so extraordinary an attachment (or what 
you please to call it) as they had for me. This ended in coming 
over to make me a visit against my will, and, as was pretended, 
very much against their interest. I cannot deny I was very 
silly in giving the least credit to this stuff. But if people are 
so silly, you'll own ’tis natural for any body that is good-natured 
to pity and be glad to serve a person they believe unhappy upon 
their account. It came into my head, out of a high point of 
generosity (for which I wish myself hanged), to do this creature 
all the good I possibly could, since ’twas impossible to make 
them happy their own way. I advised him very strenuously to 
sell out of the subscription, and in compliance to my advice he 
did so; and in less than two days saw he had done very pru- 
dently. After a piece of service of this nature, I thought I 
could more decently press his departure, which his follies made 
me think necessary forme. He took leave of me with so many 
tears and grimaces (which I can’t imagine how he could counter- 








Her Life and Letters 153 


feit) as really moved my compassion ; and I had much ado to 
keep to my first resolution of exacting his absence, which he 
swore would be his death. I told him that there was no other 
way in the world I would not be glad to serve him in, but that 
his extravagances made it utterly impossible for me to keep him 
company. He said that he would put into my hands the money 
that I had won for him, and desired me to improve it, saying 
that if he had enough to buy a small estate, and retire from 
the world, ‘twas all the happiness he hoped for init. I repre- 
sented to him that if he had so little money as he said, ’twas 
ridiculous to hazard at all. He replied that ’twas too little to 
be of any value, and he would either have it double or quit. 
After many objections on my side and replies on his, I was so 
weak to be overcome by his entreaties, and flattered myself 
also that I was doing a very heroic action, in trying to make a 
man’s fortune though I did not care for his addresses. He left 
me with these imaginations, and my first care was to employ 
his money to the best advantage. [I laid it all out in stock, the 
general discourse and private intelligence then scattered about 
being of a great rise. You may remember it was two or three 
days before the fourth subscription, and you were with me 
when I paid away the money to Mr. Binfield. I thought I had 
managed prodigious well in selling out the said stock the day 
after the shutting the books (for a small profit) to Cox and 
Cleeve, goldsmiths of very good reputation. When the opening 
of the books came, my men went off, leaving the stock upon my 
hands, which was already sunk from near nine hundred pounds 
to four hundred pounds. I immediately writ him word of this 
misfortune, with the sincere sorrow natural to have upon such 
an occasion, and asked his opinion as to the selling the stock 
remaining in. He made me no answer to this part of my letter, 
but a long eloquent oration of miseries of another nature. I 
attributed this silence to his disinterested neglect of his money ; 
but, however, resolved to make no more steps in his business 
without direct orders, after having been so unlucky. This 
occasioned many letters to no purpose ; but the very post after 





154 Lady Mary Wortley Montagu : 


you left London, I received a letter from him, in which he told 
me that he had discovered all my tricks; that he was con- 
vinced I had all his money remaining untouched : and he would 
have it again, or he would print all my letters to him; which 
though, God knows, very innocent in the main, yet may admit of 
ill constructions, besides the monstrousness of being exposed in 
such a manner. I hear from other people that he is liar 
enough to publish that I have borrowed the money of him ; 
though I have a note under his hand, by which he desires me to 
employ it in the funds, and acquits me of being answerable for 
the losses that may happen. At the same time, I have attesta- 
tions and witnesses of the bargains I made, so that nothing can 
be clearer than my integrity in this business ; but that does not 
hinder me from being in the utmost terror for the consequences 
(as you may easily guess) of his villany ; the very story of which 
appears so monstrous to me, I can hardly believe myself while 
I write it; though I omit (not to tire you) a thousand 
aggravating circumstances. I cannot forgive myself the 
folly of ever regarding one word he said ; and I see now that his 
lies have made me wrong several of my acquaintances, and you 
among the rest, for having said (as he told me) horrid things 
against me to him. ‘Tis long since that your behaviour has 
acquitted you in my opinion; but I thought I ought not to 
mention, to hurt him with you, what was perhaps more mis- 
understanding, or mistake, than a designed lie. But he has very 
amply explained his character to me. What is very pleasant 
is, that, but two posts before, I received a letter from him full 
of higher flights than ever. I beg your pardon (dear sister) for 
this tedious account ; but you see how necessary ’tis for me to 
get my letters from this madman. Perhaps the best way is by 
fair means ; at least, they ought to be first tried. I would have 
you, then (my dear sister), try to make the wretch sensible of 
the truth of what I advance, without asking for the letters, 
which I have already asked for. Perhaps you may make him 
ashamed of his infamous proceedings by talking of me, without 
taking notice that you know of his threats, only of my dealings. 


Her Life and Letters 155 


I take this method to be the most likely to work upon him. I 
beg you would send me a full and true account of this detestable 
affair (enclosed to Mrs. Murray). If I had not been the most 
unlucky creature in the world, his letter would have come while 
you were here, that I might have shewed you both his note and 
the other people’s. I knew he was discontented, but was far 
from imagining a possibility of this thing. I give you a great 
deal of trouble, but you see I shall owe you the highest obliga- 
tion if you can serve me: the very endeavouring of it is a tie 
upon me to serve you the rest of my life without reserve and 
with eternal gratitude. 


(Twickenham, 1721.] 

“Tam now at Twickenham : ’tis impossible to tell you, dear 
sister, what agonies I suffer every post-day ; my health really 
suffers so much from my fears, that I have reason to apprehend 
the worst consequences. If that monster acted on the least 
principles of reason, I should have nothing to fear, since ’tis 
certain that after he has exposed me he will get nothing by it. 
Mr. Wortley can do nothing for his satisfaction I am not 
willing to do myself. I desire not the least indulgence of 
any kind. Let him put his affair into the hands of any lawyer 
whatever. I am willing to submit to any examination ; ‘tis 
impossible to make a fairer offer than this is: whoever he 
employs may come to me hither on several pretences. I 
desire nothing from him, but that he would send no letters 
nor messages to my house at London, where Mr. Wortley now 
is. I am come hither in hopes of benefit from the air, but I 
carry my distemper about me in an anguish of mind that 
visibly decays my body every day. I am too melancholy to 
talk of any other subject. Let me beg you (dear sister) to 
take some care of this affair, and think you have it in your 
power to do more than save the life of a sister that loves you. 


(Twickenham, 1721.] 
‘I give you many thanks (my dear sister) for the trouble you 





156 Lady Mary Wortley Montagu : 











have given yourself in my affair; but am afraid ’tis not yet 
effectual. I must beg you to let him know I am now at 
Twickenham, and that whoever has his procuration may come 
here on divers pretences, but must by no means go to my 
house at London. I wonder you can think Lady Stafford has 
not writ to him; she shewed me a long plain letter to him 
several months ago; as a demonstration he received it, I saw 
his answer. ’Tis true she treated him with the contempt he 
deserved, and told him she would never give herself the trouble 
of writing again to so despicable a wretch. She is willing to 
do yet further, and write to the Duke of Villeroi about it, if I 
think it proper. Rémond does nothing but lie, and either 
does not, or will not, understand what is said tohim. You will 
forgive me troubling you so often with this business; the 
importance of it is the best excuse ; in short, 





, ’tis joy or sorrow, peace or strife, 
’Tis all the colour of remaining life.’ 


I can foresee nothing else to make me unhappy, and, I believe, 
shall take care another time not to involve myself in difficulties 
by an overplus of heroic generosity. 

‘“T am, dear sister, ever yours, with the utmost esteem and 
affection. If I get over this cursed affair, my style may 
enliven.” 


(June, 1721.] 

‘““T have just received your letter of May 30th, and am 
surprised, since you own the receipt of my letter, that you 
give me not the least hint concerning the business that I writ 
so earnestly to you about. Till that is over, I am as little 
capable of hearing or repeating news, as | should be if my 
house was on fire. I am sure, a great deal must be in your 
power ; the hurting of me can be in no way his interest. I am 
ready to assign, or deliver the money for £500 stock, to who- 
ever he will name, if he will send my letters into Lady Stafford’s 
hands ; which, were he sincere in his offer of burning them, he 





Her Life and Letters 157 


would readily do. Instead of that, he has writ a letter to Mr. 
W. [Wortley] to inform him of the whole affair : luckily for me, 
the person he has sent it to assures me it shall never be de- 
livered ; but I am not the less obliged to his good intentions. 
For God’s sake, do something to set my mind at ease from 
this business, and then I will not fail to write you regular 
accounts of all your acquaintance.” 


[July (2), 1721.] 

“ T cannot enough thank you, dear sister, for the trouble you 
give yourself in my affairs, though I am still so unhappy to find 
your care very ineffectual. I have actually in my present 
possession a formal letter directed to Mr. Wortley to acquaint 
him with the whole business. You may imagine the inevitable 
eternal misfortunes it would have thrown me into, had it been 
delivered by the person to whom it was intrusted. I wish you 
would make him sensible of the infamy of this proceeding, 
which can no way in the world turn to his advantage. Did I 
refuse giving the strictest account, or had I not the clearest 
demonstration in my hands of the truth and sincerity with which 
I acted, there might be some temptation to this baseness ; 
but all he can expect by informing Mr. Wortley is to hear him 
repeat the same things I assert; he will not retrieve one 
farthing, and I am for ever miserable. I beg no more of him 
than to direct any person, man or woman, either lawyer, broker, 
or a person of quality, to examine me; and as soon as he has 
sent a proper authority to discharge me on enquiry, | am ready 
to be examined. I think no offer can be fairer from any person 
whatsoever ; his conduct towards me is so infamous, that I 
am informed I might prosecute him by law if he was here ; he 
demanding the whole sum as a debt from Mr. Wortley, at the 
same time I have a note under his hand signed to prove the 
contrary. I beg with the utmost earnestness that you would 
make him sensible of his error. 1 believe ‘tis very necessary 
to say something to fright him. I am persuaded, if he was 
talked to in a style of that kind, he would not dare to attempt to 


158 Lady Mary Wortley Montagu : 


ruin me. I have a great inclination to write seriously to your 
lord about it, since I desire to determine this affair in the fairest 
and the clearest manner. Iam not at all afraid of making any 
body acquainted with it; and if I did not fear making Mr. 
Wortley uneasy (who is the only person from whom I would 
conceal it), all the transactions should have been long since 
enrolled in Chancery. I have already taken care to have the 
broker’s depositions taken before a lawyer of reputation and 
merit. I deny giving him no satisfaction; and after that offer, 
I think there is no man of honour that would refuse signifying 
to him that as ’tis all he can desire, so, if he persists in doing me 
an injury, he may repent it. You know how far ’tis proper to 
take this method, I say nothing of the uneasiness I am under, 
‘tis far beyond any expression ; my obligation would be pro- 
portionable to any body that would deliver me from it, and I 
should not think it paid by all the services of my life.” 


(Twickenham, June (?), 1721.] 
‘““ DEAR SISTER, 

“Having this occasion, I would not omit writing, 
though I have received no answer to my two last. The bearer 
is well acquainted with my affair, though not from me, till 
he mentioned it to me first, having heard it from those to whom 
Rémond had told it with all the false colours he pleased to lay 
on. I shewed him the formal commission I had to employ the 
money, and all the broker’s testimonies taken before Delpeeke, 
with his certificate. Your remonstrances have hitherto had so 
little effect, that R. [Rémond] will neither send a letter of 
attorney to examine my accounts, or let me be in peace. I 
received a letter from him but two posts since, in which he 
renews his threats except I send him the whole sum, which is 
as much in my power as it is to senda million. I can easily 
comprehend that he may be ashamed to send a procuration, 
which must convince the world of all the lies he has told. For 
my part, I am so willing to be rid of the plague of hearing from 
him, I desire no better than to restore him with all expedition 





Her Life and Letters 159 





the money I have in my hands ; but I will not do it without a 
general acquittance in due form, not to have fresh demands 
every time he wants money. If he thinks that he has a larger 
sum to receive than I offer, why does he not name a procurator 
to examine me? If he is content with that sum, I only insist 
on the acquittance for my own safety. I am ready to send it 
to him, with full license to tell as many lies as he pleases after- 
wards. I am weary with troubling you with repetitions which 
cannot be more disagreeable to you than they are to me. | 
have had, and still have, so much vexation with this execrable 
affair, ‘tis impossible to describe it. I had rather talk to you 
of any thing else, but it fills my whole head.”’ 


Lady Mary was no coward, but when she heard that Rémond 
intended to come to London in connection with this business, 
she was at firstin despair However, she summoned her courage 
to aid, and asked Lady Mar to tell him that if he was spoiling 
for a fight she would do her best to indulge him. 


“I send you, dear sister, by Lady Lansdowne this letter, 
accompanied with the only present that was ever sent me by 
that monster. I beg you to return it immediately. Iam told 
he is preparing to come to London. Let him know that 'tis 
not at all necessary for receiving his money or examining my 
accounts ; he has nothing to do but to send a letter of attorney 
to whom he pleases (without exception), and I will readily 
deliver up what I have in my hands, and his presence will not 
obtain one farthing more: his design then can only be to 
expose my letters here. I desire you would assure him that 
my first step shall be to acquaint my Lord Stair * with all his 
obligations to him, as soon as I hear he is in London ; and if 
he dares to give me further trouble, I shall take care to have 
him rewarded in a stronger manner than he expects ; there is 
nothing more true than this ; and I solemnly swear, that if all 


* John Dalrymple, second Earl of Stair (1673-1747), British Am- 
bassador at Paris, 1715-1720. 





160 Lady Mary Wortley Montagu : 


the credit or money that I have in the world can do it, either 
for friendship or hire, I shall not fail to have him used as he 
deserves ; and since I know this journey can only be designed 
to expose me, I shall not value what noise is made. Perhaps you 
may prevent it; I leave you to judge of the most proper 
method ; ’tis certain no time should be lost; fear is his pre- 
dominant passion, and I believe you may fright him from 
coming hither, where he will certainly find a reception very 
disagreeable to him.”’ 


“September 6, 1721. 

“T have consulted my lawyer, and he says I cannot, with 
safety to myself, deposit the money I have received into other 
hands, without the express order of Rémond; and he is so 
unreasonable, that he will neither send a procuration to examine 
my accounts, or any order for me to transfer his stock into 
another name. I am heartily weary of the trust, which has 
given me so much trouble, and can never think myself safe till 
I am quite got rid of it: rather than be plagued any longer with 
the odious keeping, I am willing to abandon my letters to his 
discretion. I desire nothing more of him than an order to 
place his money in other hands, which methinks should not be 
so hard to obtain, since he is so dissatisfied with my manage- 
ment; but he seems to be bent to torment me, and will not 
even touch his money, because I beg it of him. I wish you 
would represent these things to him; for my own part, I live 
in so much uneasiness about it, that 1 sometimes weary of life 
itself.”’ 

[October (?) 1721.] 

‘““T cannot forbear (dear sister) accusing you of unkindness 
that you take so little care of a business of the last consequence 
to me. R. [Rémond] writ to me some time ago, to say if I 
would immediately send him £2,000 sterling, he would send 
me an acquittance. As this was sending him several hundreds 
out of my own pocket, I absolutely refused it ; and, in return, 
I have just received a threatening letter, to print I know not 


Her Life and Letters 161 


what stuff against me. I am too well acquainted with the 
world (of which poor Mrs. Murray’s affair is a fatal instance), 
not to know that the most groundless accusation is always of 
ill consequence to a woman; besides the cruel misfortune it 
may bring upon me in my own family. If you have any com- 
passion either for me or my innocent children, I am sure you 
will try to prevent it. The thing is too serious to be delayed. 
I think (to say nothing either of blood or affection), that 
humanity and Christianity are interested in my preservation. I 
am sure I can answer for my hearty gratitude and everlasting 
acknowledgment of a service much more important than that 
of saving my life.” 


In Lady Mary’s correspondence there is no further reference 
to this sorry business, and so it cannot be said how it ended 
Nor can it be decided whether Rémond really believed he had 
been swindled or whether he was just a blackmailer. 


The intimacy between Lady Mary and Pope is especially 
interesting because it culminated in one of the most famous 
quarrels in the literary annals of this country, and second only 
to that between Pope and Addison. 

When Lady Mary went abroad in 1716 Pope, who always 
wanted to make the best of both worlds, thought, it has been 
related by his biographers, of what dramatic situation describ- 
ing the separation of lovers would best suit him to express his 
feelings, and he found exactly what he wanted on the supposed 
authentic letters of Eloisa to Abelard. Pope sent Lady Mary 
a volume of his poems, saying: ‘‘ Among the rest you have all 
I am worth, that is, my works. There are few things in 
them but what you have already seen, except the ‘Epistle of 
Eloisa to Abelard,’ in which you will find one passage that 
I cannot tell whether to wish you should understand or 
not.” 

Pope corresponded with Lady Mary during the two years 
of her stay abroad. The first letter from Pope begins : 

L 





162 Lady Mary Wortley Montagu : 


‘So natural as I find it is to me to neglect every body else 
in your company, I am sensible I ought to do anything that 
might please you, and I fancied upon recollection, our writing 
the letter you proposed was of that nature. I therefore sate 
down to my part of it last night, when I should have gone out of 
town. Whether or no you will order me, in recompense, to 
see you again, I leave to you, for indeed I find I begin to behave 
myself worse to you than to any other woman, as I value you 
more, and yet if I thought I should not see you again, I would 
say some things here, which I could not to your person. For I 
would not have you die deceived in me, that is, go to Constanti- 
nople without knowing that Iam to some degree of extravagance, 
as well as with the utmost reason, madam, your, etc.” 


Some passages from Pope’s subsequent letters must be given 
to indicate the lines on which this correspondence was conducted. 


“You may easily imagine how desirous I must be of corres- 
pondence with a person who had taught me long ago, that it 
was as possible to esteem at first sight, as to love ; and who has 
since ruined me for all the conversation of one sex and almost 
all the friendship of the other. I am but too sensible, through 
your means, that the company of men, wants a certain softness 
to recommend it, and that of women wants everything else. 
How often have I been quietly going to take possession of that 
tranquility and indolence I had so long found in the country, 
when one evening of your conversation has spoiled me for a 
solitaire too! Books have lost their effect upon me, and I was 
convinced since I saw you, that there is something more power- 
ful than philosophy, and since I heard you, that there is one 
alive wiser than all the sages. A plague of female wisdom ! 
it makes a man ten times more uneasy than his own. What is 
very strange, Virtue herself, when you have the dressing of her, 
is too amiable for one’s repose. What a world of good might 
you have done in your time, if you had allowed half the fine 
gentlemen who have seen you to have but conversed with you ! 


Her Life and Letters 163 


They would have been strangely caught, while they thought 
only to fall in love with a fair face, and you had bewitched them 
with reason and virtue, two beauties that the very fops pretend 
to have an acquaintance with.” 


“ August 20, 1716. 
““ MADAM, 

“ You will find me more troublesome than ever Brutus 
did his evil genius, I shall meet you in more places than one, 
and often refreshen your memory before you arrive at your 
Philippi. These shadows of me (my letters) will be haunting 
you from time to time, and putting you in mind of the man who 
has really suffered by you, and whom you have robbed of the 
most valuable of his enjoyments, your conversation. The ad- 
vantage of learning your sentiments by discovering mine, was 
what I always thought a great one, and even with the risk I 
run of manifesting my own indiscretion. You then rewarded 
my trust in you the moment it was given, for you pleased and 
informed me the minute you answered. I must now be con- 
tented with slow returns. However, it is some pleasure, that 
your thoughts upon paper will be a more lasting possession to 
me, and that I shall no longer have cause to complain of a loss 
I have so often regretted, that of anything you said, which I 
happened to forget. In earnest, Madam, if I were to write you 
as often as I think of you, it must be every day of my life. I 
attend you in spirit through all your ways, I follow in books of 
travel through every stage, I wish for you, fear for you through 
whole folios, you make me shrink at the past dangers of dead 
travellers, and when I read an agreeable prospect or delightful 
place, I hope it yet subsists to give you pleasure. I inquire the 
roads, the amusements, the company of every town and country 
you pass through, with as much diligence, as if I were to set out 
next week to overtake you. In a word no one can have you 
more constantly in mind, not even your guardian-angel (if 
you have one), and I am willing to indulge so much Popery as 
to fancy some Being takes care of you who knows your value 








164 Lady Mary Wortley Montagu : 


better than you do yourself. Iam willing to think that Heaven 
never gave so much self-neglect and resolution to a woman, to 
occasion her calamity, but am pious enough to believe those 
qualities must be intended to her benefit and her glory.”’ 


Pope’s letters of this period to Lady Mary were all written 
in a strain of adulation, which may well have pleased Lady Mary 
and must certainly have amused her. She can, however, 
scarcely have been led into any self-deception as regards the 
sincerity of her correspondent, in spite of the fact that in one of 
the earliest epistles he addressed to her he subscribed himself : 
“ Tam, with all unalterable esteem and sincerity, Madam, your 
most faithful, obedient, humble servant.’ Yet, no doubt,she 
was pleased enough to read: ‘‘ 1 communicated your letter to 
Mr. Congreve ; he thinks of you as he ought, I mean as I do, for 
one always thinks that to be just as it ought . . . We never meet 
but we lament over you: we pay a kind of weekly rites to your 
memory, when we strew flowers of rhetoric and offer such 
libations to your name as if it were a profaneness to call toast- 
ing.”” Well, alcoholic refreshment by any other name is just 
as potent. It must have been grateful and comforting to be 
told when in exile: “I must tell you, too, that the Duke of 
Buckingham has been more than once your high priest in per- 
forming the office of your praises : and upon the whole I believe 
there are few men who do not deplore your departure, as women 
that sincerely do.”’ 

Most excellent Pope, who would play at make-believe. It 
is almost a pity that he could not persuade the lady that he 
meant even a tithe of what he wrote to her. Listen to him 
again: ““For my part, I hate a great many women for your 
sake, and undervalue all the rest. ’Tis you who are to blame, 
and may God revenge it upon you, with all those blessings and 
earthy prosperities which the divines tell us, are the cause of our 
perdition : for if He makes you happy in this world, I dare trust 
your own virtue to do it in the other.”’ These poets ! | 

Lady Mary took all this in the right way, and as love-letters 





ALEXANDER POPE. 
After the Portrait by William Hoare. 


p. 164. 











Her Life and Letters 165 


appraised them at their true value. “ Perhaps you'll laugh at 
me for thanking you very gravely for all the obliging concern 
you express for me,’’ she wrote from Vienna in September, with, 
perhaps, just a touch of irony. “’Tis certain that I may, if I 
please, take the fine things you say to me for wit and raillery ; 
and it may be, it would be taking them right. But I never in 
my life was half so well disposed to believe you in earnest ; and 
that distance which makes the continuation of your friendship 
improbable, has very much increased my faith for it, and I find 
that I have (as well as the rest of my sex), whatever face I set 
on’t, a strong disposition to believe in miracles.”’ As regards 
the rest, her side of the correspondence was matter-of-fact to 
such a degree that it suggests that she adopted that tone in 
order to lease him. Her replies can scarcely have given Pope 
any satisfaction. From Vienna she gave him a detailed account 
of the opera and the theatre ; from Belgrade she told him of 
the war and of an Arabic scholar and also of the climate ; from 
Adrianople she discoursed of the Hebrus, of the lads of the village, 
of Addison and Theocritus, pays him compliments on his trans- 
lation of Homer, and a copy of some Turkish verses ; and so on. 
The most striking thing about her letters is the absence of the 
personal note, which is so often introduced when she was 
writing to others. They read more like essays than com- 
munications to a friend. 


Pope, in a letter dated September 1, 1718, sent Lady Mary 
a copy of his verses. 


ON JOHN HUGHES AND SARAH DREW 


When Eastern lovers fear’d the fun’eral fire 

On the same pile the faithful pair expire ! 

Here pitying Heav’n that virtue mutual found, 
And blasted both, that it might neither wound. 
Hearts so sincere th’ Almighty saw well pleas’d, 
Sent his own lightning and the victims seiz’d. 


I 
Think not by vig’rous judgment seiz’d, 
A pair so faithful could expire ; 
Victims so pure Heav’n saw well pleas’d, 
And snatch’d them in celestial fire. 


166 Lady Mary Wortley Montagu : 


II 
Live well, and fear no sudden fate: 
When God calls virtue to the grave ; 
Alike ’tis justice, soon or late, 
Mercy alike to kill or save. 
Virtue unmov’d can hear the call, 
And face the flash that melts the ball. 


These verses she acknowledged in a letter which, written 
while on the homeward path, she sent from Dover, where she 
arrived at the beginning of November. 


‘“T have this minute received a letter of yours, sent me from 
Paris. I believe and hope [ shall very soon see both you and 
Mr. Congreve; but as I am here in an inn, where we stay 
to regulate our march to London, bag and baggage, I shall 
employ some of my leisure time in answering that part of yours 
that seems to require an answer. 

“T must applaud your good nature, in supposing that your 
pastoral lovers (vulgarly called haymakers) would have lived 
in everlasting joy and harmony, if the lightning had not inter- 
rupted their scheme of happiness. I see no reason to imagine 
that John Hughes and Sarah Drew were either wiser or more 
virtuous than their neighbours. That a well-set man of twenty 
five should have a fancy to marry a brown woman of eighteen, 
is nothing marvellous ; and I cannot help thinking, that, had 
they married, their lives would have passed in the common track 
with their fellow parishioners. His endeavouring to shield her 
from the storm, was a natural action, and what he would have 
certainly done for his horse, if he had been in the same situation. 
Neither am I of opinion, that their sudden death was a reward 
of their mutual virtue. You know the Jews were reproved for 
thinking a village destroyed by fire more wicked than those 
that had escaped the thunder. Time and chance happen to 
all men. Since you desire me to try my skill in an epitaph, I 
think the following lines perhaps more just, though not so 
poetical as yours: 





Her Life and Letters 167 





Here lies John Hughes and Sarah Drew ; 
Perhaps you'll say, what’s that to you ? 
Believe me, friend, much may be said 

On this poor couple that are dead. 

On Sunday next they should have married ; 
But see how oddly things are carried ! 
On Thursday last it rain’d and lighten’d ; 
These tender lovers, sadly frighten’d, 
Shelter’d beneath the cocking hay, 

In hopes to pass the storm away ; 

But the bold thunder found them out 
(Commissioned for that end, no doubt), 
And, seizing on their trembling breath, 
Consign’d them to the shades of death. 
Who knows if ’twas not kindly done ? 
For had they seen the next year’s sun, 

A beaten wife and cuckold swain 

Had jointly curs’d the marriage chain ; 
Now they are happy in their doom, 

For P. has wrote upon their tomb. 


“T confess, these sentiments are not altogether so heroic as 
yours ; but I hope you will forgive them in favour of the two 
last lines. You see how much I esteem the honour you have 
done them ; though I am not very impatient to have the same, 
and had rather continue to be your stupid living humble 
servant, than be celebrated by all the pens in Europe. 

“T would write to Mr. Congreve, but suppose you will 
read this to him, if he enquires after me.”’ 





168 Lady Mary Wortley Montagu : 





CHAPTER XI 
AT TWICKENHAM 


The Montagus take a house at Twickenham—Lady Mary’s liking for 
country life—Neighbours and visitors—Pope—Bononcini, Anastasia 
Robinson, Senesino—Lord Peterborough—Sir Geoffrey Kneller— 
Henrietta Howard—Lord Bathurst—The Duke of Wharton—His 
early history—He comes to Twickenham—His relations with Lady 
Mary—Horace Walpole’s reference to them—Pope’s bitter on- 
slaught on the Duke—An Epilogue by Lady Mary—“ On the death 
of Mrs. Bowes ’—The Duke quarrels with Lady Mary. 


Pore went to live at Twickenham in 1718, and it was generally 
believed that it was by his persuasion that the Montagus rented 
a house in that little riverside hamlet. It was not until 1722 
that they bought ‘ the small habitation.” 

Lady Mary divided her time between London and Twicken- 
ham, but apparently enjoyed herself more at her country 
retreat. “I live in a sort of solitude that wants very little of 
being such as I would have it,’ she wrote to her sister, Lady Mar, 
in August, 1721. Asa matter of fact, the solitude was more 
imaginary than real, for round about there was a small colony 
of friends. 

She was, indeed, very rarely lonely. ‘‘ My time is melted 
away in almost perpetual concerts,” she told her sister. “I 
do not presume to judge, but I’ll assure you I am a very hearty 
as well as an humble admirer. I have taken my little thread 
satin beauty into the house with me ; she is allowed by Bonon- 
cini to have the finest voice he ever heard in England. Heand 
Mrs. Robinson and Senesino lodge in this village, and sup often 
with me; and this easy indolent life would make me the happiest 





Her Life and Letters 169 


thing in the world, if I had not this execrable affair [of Rémond] 
still hanging over my head.”’ To Anastasia Robinson there is 
more than one allusion in Lady Mary’s correspondence, and she 
gives a most amusing account of an incident in that lady’s 
career. 


“Could one believe that Lady Holdernesse is a beauty, and 
in love ? and that Mrs. Robinson is at the same time a prude 
and a kept mistress ? and these things in spite of nature and 
fortune. The first of these ladies is tenderly attached to the 
polite Mr. Mildmay, and sunk in all the joys of happy love, 
notwithstanding she wants the use of her two hands by a 
rheumatism, and he has an arm that he cannot move. I wish 
I could send you the particulars of this amour, which seems to 
me as curious as that between two oysters ; and as well worth 
the serious enquiry of the naturalists. The second heroine has 
engaged half the town in arms, from the nicety of her virtue, 
which was not able to bear the too near approach of Senesino 
in the opera; and her condescension in accepting of Lord 
Peterborough for her champion, who has signalised both his 
love and courage upon this occasion in as many instances 
as ever Don Quixote did for Dulcinea. Poor Senesino, like 
a vanquished giant, was forced to confess upon his knees that 
Anastasia was a nonpariel of virtue and beauty. Lord Stan- 
hope, as dwarf to the said giant, joked of his side, and was 
challenged for his pains. Lord Delawar was Lord Peter- 
borough’s second ; my lady miscarried—the whole town divided 
into parties on this important point. Innumerable have been 
the disorders between the two sexes on so great an account, 
besides half the house of peers being put under arrest. By the 
providence of Heaven, and the wise cares of his Majesty, no 
bloodshed ensued. However, things are now tolerably accom- 
modated ; and the fair lady rides through the town in triumph, 
in the shining berlin of her hero, not to reckon the essential 
advantage of {100 a month, which ’tis said he allows her,”’ 





170 Lady Mary Wortley Montagu: 
This story is, as a matter of fact, not far removed from the 
truth. It omits, however, the fact that Lord Peterborough, then 
about sixty years of age, had married Anastasia Robinson in 
1722; but the marriage was secret, although Lady Oxford was 
present at the ceremony, and it was not made public until 
thirteen years later, although long before there were many who 
suspected it. He died in the same year that the announcement 
was made. His widow survived him by a score of years. 
Sir Godfrey Kneller had a house at Twickenham, and, at the 
instigation of Pope, sat to him for her portrait, upon which the 
following lines (generally ascribed to Pope) were written : 


“The playful smiles around the dimpled mouth, 
That happy air of majesty and truth ; 
So would I draw (but oh! ’tis vain to try, 
My narrow genius does the power deny ; ) 
The equal lustre of the heav’nly mind, 
Where ev’ry grace with every virtue’s join’d ; 
Learning not vain, and wisdom not severe, 
With greatness easy, and with wit sincere ; 
With just description show the work divine, 
And the whole princess in my work should shine.’’ 


Mrs. Howard, afterwards the Countess of Suffolk, was a 
neighbour from 1723, when the Prince of Wales, whose mistress 
she was, provided her with funds for the purchase of Marble 
Hill. However, though, of course, she and Lady Mary were 
acquainted, there was at no time any intimacy between them. 
Lady Mary, in fact, does not appear to have liked Henrietta 
Howard. At least she on more than one occasion tittle-tattled 
about her. ‘‘ The most surprising news is Lord Bathurst’s 
assiduous court to their Royal Highnesses, which fills the coffee- 
houses with profound speculations. But I, who smell a rat at 
a profound distance, do believe in private that Mrs. Howard and 
his lordship have a friendship that borders upon ‘the tender.’ 


‘“* And though in histories, learned ignorance 
Attributes all to cunning or to chance, 
Love in that grave disguise does often smile, 
Knowing the cause was kindness all the while.” 


Her Life and Letters E71 


So Lady Mary wrote to Lady Marin 1724, and shortly after 
returned to the subject in another epistle: ‘‘ You may remember 
I mentioned in my last some suspicions of my own in relation 
to Lord Bathurst, which I really never mentioned, for fifty 
reasons, to anyone whatsoever ; but, as there is never smoke 
without some fire, there is very rarely fire without some smoke. 
These smothered flames, though admirably covered with whole 
heaps of politics laid over them, were at last seen, felt, heard, and 
understood ; and the fair lady given to understand by her 
commanding officer, that if she showed under other colours, 
she must expect to have her pay retrenched. Upon which the 
good Lord was dismissed, and has not attended the drawing- 
room since. You know one cannot help laughing, when one 
sees him next, and I own I long for that pleasurable moment.” 


To Twickenham came Philip, Duke of Wharton, and leased 
a villa, later called The Grove, at the farther end of the hamlet 
from London. Of all the lads of the village there was none 
for wildness like unto him. Born in 1698, and therefore nine 
years younger than Lady Mary, he had at an early age made 
himself conspicuous by unbridled excesses. Soon after the 
death of his father, Thomas, .first Marquess of Wharton, in 
1715, his conduct created so much scandal at home, that his 
guardians sent him abroad in the custody of a tutor. To the 
horror of that unfortunate person, his charge enrolled himself 
as an adherent of the Pretender, and went to pay his respects 
at Avignon. The Duke had talent beyond the ordinary. 
He could write fairly well, make an excellent speech, and had 
a keen sense of wit. When he went to Paris, the British 
Ambassador, Lord Stair, took it upon himself to give this mad- 
cap some sound advice. He extolled the virtues of the late 
Marquess of Wharton, and, “I hope,” he said, “you will 
follow so illustrious an example of fidelity to your Prince and love 
to your country.” ‘I thank your Excellency for your good 
counsel,” replied the visitor courteously, “and as your Ex- 
cellency had also a worthy and discerning father, I hope that 








EZ Lady Mary Wortley Montagu : 





you will likewise copy so bright an example, and tread in all his 
footsteps,’’—an effective though a brutal rejoinder, for the 
first Lord Stair had betrayed his Sovereign. Young Wharton, 
on his return, however, showed by his conduct that his visit 
_to Avignon had been little more than a prank, for while he had 
accepted a dukedom from the Pretender, he, in 1718, being still 
a minor, accepted a dukedom from the British Sovereign—the 
singleinstance of such a dignity being conferred upona minor. 

Wharton, who did everything in haste, had in his seven- 
teenth year eloped with Martha, daughter of Major-General 
Richard Holmes, and married her in the Fleet on March 2, 1715. 
As was only to be expected from a person so volatile he from 
the beginning neglected his wife; but, as is put quaintly in 
that unreliable work, Memoirs of a Certain Island adjacent to 
the Kingdom of Utopia, which was concocted by Mrs. Eliza 
Haywood, “‘ after some years of continu’d extravagance, the 
Duke, either through the natural Inconsistency of his Temper, 
or the Reflection how much he had been drawn in by his un- 
worthy Companions to embezel his Estate . . . began to think 
there were Comforts in Retirement ; and falling into the Con- 
versation of the sober part of Mankind, more than he had done, 
was persuaded by them to take home his Dutchess. . . . He 
brought her to his House ; but Love had no part in his Reso- 
lution. He lived with her indeed but she is with him as a 
Housekeeper, as a Nurse.’’ The relations were, however, 
more intimate than Mrs. Haywood believed, for in March, 1719, 
a son was born to them. 

“The Duke of Wharton has brought his Duchess to town, 
and is fond of her to distraction ; in order to break the hearts of 
all other women that have any claim on him,’’ Lady Mary wrote 
to Lady Mar. “ He has public devotions twice a day, and assists 
at them in person with exemplary devotion ; and there is noth- 
ing pleasanter than the remarks of some pious ladies on the 
conversion of such a sinner.”’ 

The letter from which the above passage is an extract must 
have been written not later than the early spring of 1720, for 











Her Life and Letters 173 


after that date the Duke and Duchess of Wharton did not again 
live together. The immediate cause of the separation was that 
Wharton had forbidden his wife to come to London where 
small-pox was raging atthetime. She, however, whether irked 
by the dulness of the country, or thinking by her presence to 
guard her husband against those temptations to which he was 
prone, followed him to the town, where the infant sickened of 
the epidemic and died. After one great scene, they never met 
again. 

There is mention of the Duke in another letter of Lady Mary 
to Lady Mar, dated February, 1724: 


“In general, gallantry never was in so elevated a figure as it 
is at present. Twenty very pretty fellows (the Duke of Whar- 
ton being president and chief director) have formed themselves 
into a committee of gallantry. They callthemselves Schemers ; 
and meet regularly three times a week, to consult on gallant 
schemes for the advantage and advancement of that branch of 
happiness. . . . I consider the duty of a true Englishwoman 
is to do what honour she can to her native country ; and that 
it would be a sin against the pious love I bear the land of my 
nativity, to confine the renown due to the Schemers within 
the small extent of this little island, which ought to be spread 
wherever men can sigh, or women wish. ‘Tis true they have 
the envy and curses of the old and ugly of both sexes, and a 
general persecution from all old women; but this is no more 
than all reformations must expect in their beginning.”’ 


More than one writer has asserted that it was the wit and 
beauty of Lady Mary that drew him thither. At the time the 
Duke was twenty-four and the lady nine years older. Certainly 
he paid her marked attention, but as he paid marked attention to 
all women who had not a hump or a squint—sometimes, maybe, 
he even overlooked the squint—it is as impossible to say whether 
he was in love with her as it is to assert that she was in love with 
him. From the little that is known of their intimacy, it would 





174 Lady Mary Wortley Montagu: 


seem that they were merely good comrades—good comrades 
of the type that might bite or scratchatanymoment. Horace 
Walpole, who was more than usually malicious where Lady 
Mary was concerned, could scarcely induce himself to allow her 
any qualities. “My Lady Stafford,’ * he wrote to George 
Montagu in 1751, ‘‘ used to live at Twickenham when Lady 
Mary Wortley and the Duke of Wharton lived there; she had 
more wit than both of them. What would I give to have had 
Strawberry Hull twenty years ago! I think anything but 
twenty years. Lady Stafford used to say to her sister, ‘ Well, 
child, I have come without my wit to-day ’; that is, she had not 
taken her opium, which she was forced to do if she had any 
appointment, to be in particular spirits.”’ 

Horace Walpole alluded to Lady Mary and the Duke in 
“The Parish Register of Twickenham ”’: 


‘Twickenham, where frolic Wharton revelled 
Where Montagu, with locks dishevelled, 
Conflict of dirt and warmth combin’d, 

Invoked—and scandalised the Nine.’’ 


What Pope thought of the Duke he expressed with the 
utmost vigour : 


“Wharton, the scorn and wonder of our days, 
Whose ruling passion was the lust of praise : 
Born with whate’er could win it from the wise, 
Women and fools must like him, or he dies: 
Though wondering senates hung on all he spoke, 
The club must hail him master of the joke. 

Shall parts so various aim at nothing new ? 
He’ll shine a Tully and a Wilmot too. 

Then turns repentant, and his God adores 

With the same spirit that he drinks and whores ; 
Enough, if all around him but admire, 

And now the punk applaud, and now the friar. 
Thus with each gift of nature and of art, 

And wanting nothing but an honest heart ; 
Grown all to all; from no one vice exempt, 

And most contemptible, to shun contempt : 


* Claude Charlotte, Countess of Stafford, wife of Henry, Earl of 
Stafford, and daughter of Philibert, Count of Grammont, and Elizabeth 
Hamilton, his wife. 





Her Life and Letters 175 


His passion still, to covet general praise, 

His life, to forfeit it a thousand ways ; 

A constant bounty which no friend has made ; 
An angel tongue, which no man can persuade ; 

A fool, with more of wit than half mankind ; 

Too rash for thought, for action too refined : 

A tyrant to his wife his heart approves ; 

A rebel to the very king he loves ; 

He dies, sad outcast of each church and state, 
And, harder still! flagitious, yet not great. 

Ask you why Wharton broke through every rule ? 
*T was all for fear the knaves should call him fool.” 


The Duke wrote a play on Mary Queen of Scots—of which 
only four lines have been preserved : 


“‘ Sure were I free, and Norfolk were a prisoner, 
I’d fly with more impatience to his arms, 
Than the poor Israelite gaz’d on the serpent, 
When life was the reward of every look.” 


It is usually stated that this play was written at some time 
between 1728 and 1730, but it is certain that it was begun at this 
time—probably it was never finished. Perhaps only the scenario 
was drawn up, and a few scenes outlined ; but that so much at 
least was done while the author was at Twickenham is proved 
conclusively by the fact that at this time Lady Mary composed 
for the play an epilogue, designed to be spoken by Mrs. Oldfield. 


‘* What could luxurious woman wish for more, 
To fix her joys, or to extend her pow’r ? 
Their every wish was in this Mary seen, 
Gay, witty, youthful, beauteous, and a queen. 
Vain useless blessings with ill-conduct join’d ! 
Light as the air, and fleeting as the wind. 
Whatever poets write, and lovers vow, 
Beauty, what poor omnipotence hast thou ? 
Queen Bess had wisdom, council, power and laws ; 
How few espous’d a wretched beauty’s cause ? 
Learn thence, ye fair, more solid charms to prize, 
Contemn the idle flatt’rers of your eyes. 
The brightest object shines but while ’tis new, 
That influence lessens by familiar view. 
Monarchs and beauties rule with equal sway, 
All strive to serve, and glory to obey, 
Alike unpitied when depos’d they grow— 
Men mock the idol of their former vow. 
Two great examples have been shown to-day, 





176 Lady Mary Wortley Montagu : 


To what sure ruin passion does betray, 

What long repentance to short joys is due, 

When reason rules, what glory must ensue. 

If you will love, love like Eliza then, 

Love for amusement, like those traitors, men. 
Think that the pastime of a leisure hour 

She favor’d oft—but never shar’d her pow’r. 

The traveller by desert wolves pursued, 

If by his heart the savage foe’s subdu’d, 

The world will still the noble act applaud, 
Though victory was gain’d by needful fraud. 
Such is, my tender sex, our helpless case, 

And such the barbarous heart, hid by the begging face, 
By passion fir’d, and not withheld by shame, 
They cruel hunters are, we trembling game. 
Trust me, dear ladies, (for I know ’em well), 
They burn to triumph, and they sigh to tell : 
Cruel to them that yield, cullies to them that sell. 
Believe me, ’tis far the wiser course, 

Superior art should meet superior force : 

Hear, but be faithful to your int’rest still : 

Secure your hearts—then fool with whom you will.”’ 


At Twickenham the Duke seems in some degree to have 
relied for his entertainment upon his pen. There he wrote 
his articles for the True Briton, and also indited various 
trifles in verse. Never neglecting an opportunity to indulge 
his humour, when Lady Mary Wortley Montagu wrote a poem 
on the untimely death of a friend, he could not refrain from 
presenting her with a parody. 


ON THE DEATH OF MRS. BOWES 
By Lady Mary Wortley Montagu 
“Hail, happy bride! for thou art truly bless’d, 

Three months of rapture crown’d with endless rest, 
Merit like yours was Heav’n’s peculiar care, 
You lov’d—yet tasted happiness sincere : 
To you the sweets of love were only shown, 
The sure succeeding bitter dregs unknown. 
You had not yet the fatal change deplor’d 
The tender lover for th’ imperious lord, 
Nor felt the pains that jealous fondness brings, 
Nor wept that coldness from possession springs, 
Above your sex distinguish’d in your fate, 
You trusted—yet experienc’d no deceit. 
Soft were your hours, and wing’d with pleasure flew, 
No vain repentance gave a sign to you, 
And if superior bliss heav’n can bestow, 
With fellow-angels you enjoy it now.” 





Her Life and Letters 197 


THE ANSWER 
By the Duke of Wharton 


“Hail, Poetess! for thou art truly blest, 
Of wit, of beauty, and of love possest, 
Your muse does seem to bless poor Bowes’s fate, 
But far ’tis from you to desire her state, 
In every line your wanton soul appears, 
Your verse, tho’ smooth, scarce fit for modest ears, 
No pangs of jealous fondness doth thou shew, 
And bitter dregs of love thou ne’er didst know : 
The coldness that your husband oft has mourn’d; 
Does vanish quite, when warm’d on Turkish ground. 
For Fame does say, if Fame don’t lying prove, 
You paid obedience to the Sultan’s love. 
Who, fair one, then, was your imperious Lord ? 
Not Montagu, but Mahomet the word : 
Great as your wit, just so is Wortley’s love, 
Your next attempt will be on thund’ring Jove, 
The little angels you on Bowes bestow, 
But gods themselves are only fit for you.”’ 


No writer of verses likes to have fun poked at them, even in 
the form of friendly banter, but Lady Mary seems to have borne 
the affliction admirably. 

Two persons with such impish humour could not but fre- 
quently find themselves at loggerheads, but their liking for 
each other’s society was genuine, and quarrels were followed by 
peace-making. ‘‘ Sophia [as she nicknamed the young man] 
and I have been quite reconciled, and are now quite broke, and 
I believe not likely to piece up again,’ Lady Mary wrote to her 
sister. This was in February, 1725, and a little later in the 
year the breach was widened by the really outrageous conduct 
of the Duke: 


“Sophia and I have an immortal quarrel ; which though 
I resolve never to forgive, I can hardly forbear laughing at. 
An acquaintance of mine is married, whom | wish very well to : 
Sophia has been pleased, on this occasion, to write the most 
infamous ballad that ever was written ; where both the bride 
and bridegroom are intolerably mauled, especially the last, 
who is complimented with the hopes of cuckoldom, and forty 


other things equally obliging, and Sophia has distributed this 
M 





178 Lady Mary Wortley Montagu : 


ballad in such a manner as to make it pass for mine, on purpose 
to pique the poor innocent soul of the new-married man, whom 
I should be the last of creatures to abuse. I know not how 
to clear myself of this vile imputation, without a train of conse- 
quences I have no mind to fallinto. In the mean time, Sophia 
enjoys the pleasure of heartily plaguing both me and that 
person.”’ 


Probably this ‘‘ immortal quarrel ’’ would have been made 
up, but at the beginning of July the Duke went abroad never to 
return. ‘‘ Sophia is going to Aix-la-Chapelle, and thence to 
Paris,’ Lady Mary wrote to Lady Mar. ‘I dare swear she’ll 
endeavour to get acquainted with you. We are broke to an 
iremediable degree. Various are the persecutions I have 
endured from her this winter, in all of which I remain neuter, 
and shall certainly go to heaven from the passive meekness of 
my temper.”’ 








Her Life and Letters 179 





CHAPTER XII 


A FAMOUS QUARREL 


Pope and Lady Mary—He pays her compliments—His jealousy of her 
other admirers—The cause of his quarrel with her—His malicious 
attacks on her thereafter—Writes of her as “‘ Sappho ’’—Lady 
Mary asks Arbuthnot to protect her—Molly Skerritt—Lady Stafford 
—Lady Mary’s malicious tongue and pen—Mrs. Murray—“ An 
Epistle from Arthur Grey ’’—Lady Mary, Lord Hervey, and Molly 
Lepell—Death of the Earl of Kingston—Lady Gower—Lady 
Mar—Marriage of Lady Mary’s daughter. 


OF Pope, it is curious to relate, though he was a near neighbour, 
she saw less and less. It has been suggested that the first rift 
in the lute was her parody of his verses about the lovers struck 
by lightning ; but even he, most sensitive of men, can scarcely 
have been seriously offended. So far as is known, only two 
letters passed between them after 1719. 


‘““T pass my time in a small snug set of dear intimates, and 
go very little into the grand monde, which has always had my 
hearty contempt’”’ (she wrote to Lady Mar in the spring of 
1722). ‘‘I see sometimes Mr. Congreve, and very seldom Mr. 
Pope, who continues to embellish his house at Twickenham. He 
has made a subterranean grotto, which he has furnished with 
looking-glass, and they tell me it has a very good effect. I 
here send you some verses addressed to Mr. Gay, who wrote him 
a congratulatory letter on the finishing his house. I stifled 
them here, and I beg they may die the same death at Paris, 
and never go further than your closet : 








180 Lady Mary Wortley Montagu : 


‘ Ah, friend, ‘tis true—this truth you lovers know— 
In vain my structures rise, my gardens grow, 
In vain fair Thames reflects the double scenes 
Of hanging mountains, and of sloping greens : 
Joy lives not here; to happier seats it flies, 
And only dwells where Wortley casts her eyes. 


What is the gay parterre, the chequer’d shade, 
The morning bower, the ev’ning colonnade, 

But soft recesses of uneasy minds, 

To sigh unheard in, to the passing winds ? 

So the struck deer in some sequestrate part 
Lies down to die, the arrow at his heart ; 

There, stretch’d unseen in coverts hid from day, 
Bleeds drop by drop, and pants his life away.’ 


It may here be remarked that in Epistle VIII of the Moral 
Essays Pope had a line: 


““ And other beauties envy Wortley’s eyes ”’ ; 


but in a reprint of the poem he substituted [Lady] ‘‘ Worsley ” 
for ‘‘ Wortley ”’ in order to give the impression that “ Wortley ”’ 
had been a misprint. 

Pope’s quarrel with Lady Mary began in or about 1722. 
The cause is obscure. Many reasons have been advanced. 
Lady Mary in her correspondence gives no clue as to the breach. 

It has been said that it arose out of the fact that Pope lent 
the Montagus a pair of sheets and that they were returned un- 
washed, to the great indignation of his mother who lived with 
him. It is difficult to believe this. 

Others have it that he was jealous of the favour which 
Lady Mary accorded to the Duke of Wharton and Lord Hervey. 
Certainly he lampooned the Duke, and he was never weary of 
writing insultingly about the other. 

Most probable is the account given by Lady Louisa Stuart, 
Lady Mary’s grand-daughter, which is to the effect that Pope 
made a declaration of love, and that Lady Mary received it with 
shrieks of laughter. If Pope were serious, it must have galled 
him indeed, though nothing can excuse the malignity with 
which he pursued her for years and years. And if he were not 





JOSEPH ADDISON. 


p. 180. 








Her Life and Letters T8r 


in earnest, he would probably have been nearly, if not quite, as 
indignant. 

Anyhow, it is a sorry story, and a blot on the scutcheon of 
the poet, who,-good-hearted as he usually was, was cursed by 
the gift, refined to a rare degree, of alienating his friends, more 
often than not for some fancied slight. Addison he lampooned, 
and from Dennis and Philips he parted company. “ Leave him 
as soon as you can,” Addison had warned Lady Mary. “ He 
will certainly play you some devilish trick else: he has an 
appetite for satire.’’ Lady Mary presently must have wished 
that she had followed this sage counsel. 

When Pope fought, he fought with the gloves off ; and not 
the sex or the age or the standing of the subject of his wrath 
deterred him a whit. 


‘“‘ Have I, in silent wonder, seen such things 
As pride in slaves, and avarice in kings ; 
And ata peer, or peeress, shall I fret, 

Who starves a sister, or forswears a debt ? ”’ 


Thus Pope in the First Dialogue of the Epilogue to the 
Satives. The reference to forswearing a debt, is, of course, to 
the Rémond business ; “‘ who starves a sister ”’ is an allusion to 
Lady Mary and Lady Mar.* 

Pope returned to the attack again and again. In The 
Satires of Dr. John Donne Versified, he inserted the following 
lines, although there is nothing in the original to warrant the 
stroke at Lady Mary: 


“Yes, thank my stars! as early as I knew 
This town, I had the sense to hate it too: 
Yet here, as e’en in hell, there must be still 
One giant vice, so excellently ill. 
That all beside, one pities, not abhors : 
As who knows Sappho, smiles at other whores.”’ 


Again, in the Epistle to Martha Blount: 


‘‘ As Sappho’s diamonds with her dirty smock ; 
Or Sappho at her toilet’s greasy task, 
With Sappho radiant at an evening mask.”’ 


* See p. 200 of this work, 





182 Lady Mary Wortley Montagu : 


Pope would not admit that he alluded to Lady Mary as 
Sappho, but everyone realised that this wasso. Lady Mary, 
much distressed, begged Lord Peterborough to urge Pope to 
refrain. The mission was undertaken reluctantly, and the result 
was scarcely satisfactory. “‘He said to me,’’ Lord Peter- 
borough wrote to Lady Mary, “ what I had taken the liberty of 
saying to you, that he wondered how the town would apply 
these lines to any but some noted common woman; that he 
would yet be more surprised if you should take them to your- 
self ; he named to me four remarkable poetesses and scribblers, 
Mrs. Centlivre, Mrs. Heywood, Mrs. Manley, and Mrs. Behn, 
assuring me that such only were the objects of his satire. 

Much upset, Lady Mary wrote the following letter to 
Arbuthnot : 


January 3 [1735]. 
COIR: 


“T have perused the last lampoon of your ingenious 
friend, and am not surprised you did not find me out under 
the name of Sappho, because there is nothing I ever heard in 
our characters or circumstances to make a parallel, but as the 
town (except you, who know better) generally suppose Pope 
means me, whenever he mentions that name, I cannot help 
taking notice of the horrible malice he bears against the lady 
signified by that name, which appears to be irritated by sup- 
posing her writer of the Verses to the Imitator of Horace. 
Now I can assure him they were wrote (without my know- 
ledge) by a gentleman of great merit, whom I very much 
esteem, who he will never guess, and who, if he did know, he 
durst not attack; but I own the design was so well meant, 
and so excellently executed, that I cannot be sorry they were 
written. I wish you would advise poor Pope to turn to some 
more honest livelihood than libelling ; I know he will allege in 
his excuse that he must write to eat, and he has now grown 
sensible that nobody will buy his verses except their curiosity 
is piqued to it, to see what is said of their acquaintance ; but 


Her Life and Letters 183 


I think this method of gain so exceeding vile that it admits of 
no excuse at all—Can anything be more detestable than his 
abusing poor Moore, scarce cold in his grave, when it is plain 
he kept back his poem, while he lived, for fear he should beat 
him for it? This is shocking to me, though of a man I never 
spoke to and hardly knew by sight; but I am seriously 
concerned at the worse scandal he has heaped on Mr. Congreve, 
who was my friend, and whom I am obliged to justify, because 
I can do it on my own knowledge, and, which is yet farthers 
bring witness of it, from those who were then often with me» 
that he was so far from loving Pope’s rhyme, both that—and his 
conversation were perpetual jokes to him, exceeding despicable 
in his opinion, and he has often made us laugh in talking of 
them, being particularly pleasant on that subject. As to Pope’s 
being born of honest parents, I verily believe it, and will add 
one praise to his mother’s character, that (though I only knew 
her very old) she always appeared to me to have much better 
sense than himself. I desire, sir, as a favour, that you would 
show this letter to Pope, and you will very much oblige, sir, 
“Your humble servant.” 


Lady Mary was not a person, after severe chastisement, to 
turn the other cheek, and Pope was well aware of it. He 
believed that more than one social satire upon him came from 
her pen ; and he especially suspected her of having written, or 
anyhow of having had a hand in the composition of A Pop 
upon Pope, in which an account was given of a whipping in 
Ham Walk which was said to have been administered to him. 
The poet was so furious—he regarded it as an indirect attack on 
his physical deformity, of which he was always so conscious— 
that he actually inserted an announcement in the papers that 
no such incident had ever occurred—thereby drawing yet more 
attention to the lampoon. ‘‘ You may be certain I shall never 
reply to such a libel as Lady Mary’s,”’ he wrote to Fortescue. 
“Tt is a pleasure and comfort at once to find out that with so 
much mind as so much malice must have to accuse or blacken 





184 Lady Mary Wortley Montagu : 


my character, it can fix upon no one ill or immoral thing in 
my life and must content itself to say, my poetry is dull and my 
person ugly.” 

Lady Mary, in a letter to Arbuthnot, denied the authorship 
of A Pop upon Pope : 


eth, 

“Since I saw you I have made some inquiries, and 
heard more, of the story you was so kind to mention to me. 
I am told Pope has had the surprising impudence to assert he 
can bring the lampoon when he pleases to produce it, under 
my own hand; I desire he may be made to keep to this offer. 
If he is so skilful in counterfeiting hands, I suppose he will not 
confine that great talent to the gratifying his malice, but take 
some occasion to increase his fortune by the same method, and 
I may hope (by such practices) to see him exalted according to 
his merit, which nobody will rejoice at more than myself. I 
beg of you, sir (as an act of justice), to endeavour to set the 
truth in an open light, and then I leave to your judgment the 
character of those who have attempted to hurt mine in so bar- 
barous a manner. I can assure you (in particular) you named 
a lady to me (as abused in this libel) whose name I never heard 
before, and as I never had any acquaintance with Dr. Swift 
am an utter stranger to all his affairs and even his person, 
which I never saw to my knowledge, and am now convinced 
the whole is a contrivance of Pope’s to blast the reputation of 
one who never injured him. I am not more sensible of his 
injustice, than I am, sir, of your [sic] candour, generosity, and 
good sense I have found in you, which has obliged me to be 
with a very uncommon warmth your real friend, and I heartily 
wish for an opportunity of showing I am so more effectually 
than by subscribing myself your very 

“ Humble servant.” 


Whether, in spite of her denial, Lady Mary had a hand in 
A Pop upon Pope cannot be said; but it is certainly safe 





Her Life and Letters 185 





to believe that the following lines were written by her, in con- 
junction, the gossip of the day had it, with Lord Hervey, with 
some assistance from Mr. Wyndham, then tutor to the Duke of 
Cumberland : 


‘* VERSES ADDRESSED TO THE IMITATOR OF THE FIRST SATIRE OF THE 
SECOND Book oF HORACE, 
By a Lady 


“ Nor thou the justice of the world disown, 
That leaves thee thus an outcast and alone : 
For though in law the murder be to kill, 
In equity the murder is the will. 
Then while with coward hand you stab a name, 
And try at least to assassinate our fame, 
Like the first bold assassin be thy lot, 
‘Ne’er be thy guilt forgiven or forgot ; 
But as thou hat’st by hatred by mankind, 
And with the emblem of thy crooked mind 
Marked on thy back, like Cain, by God’s own hand, 
Wander like him accursed through the land.”’ 


It was this malignant attack upon his person that inspired 
Pope’s lines in the Epistle to Arbuthnot : 


“Once, and but once, his heedless youth was bit, 
And liked that dangerous thing, a female wit. 
Safe, so he thought, though all the prudent chid ; 
He writ no libels, but my lady did ; 

Great odds, in amorous or poetic game, 
Where woman’s is the sin, and man’s the shame.”’ 


With the following extract from a letter written by Lady 
Mary from Florence in 1740 this unpleasing incident may be 
dismissed : } 


“The word malignity, and a passage in your letter, call to 
my mind the wicked wasp of Twickenham : his lies affect me 
now no more; they will be all as much despised as the story of 
the seraglio and the handkerchief, of which I am persuaded he 
was the only inventor. That man has a malignant and un- 
generous heart ; and he is base enough to assume the mask of a 
moralist, in order to decry human nature, and to give a decent 
vent to his hatred of man and woman kind.—But I must quit 











186 Lady Mary Wortley Montagu : 





this contemptible subject, on which a just indignation would 
render my pen so fertile, that after having fatigued you with a 
long letter, I would surfeit you with a supplement twice as long.”’ 


At Twickenham Lady Mary interested herself in planning 
alterations in the house and gardens. “‘ There is a sort of 
pleasure,’’ she said, “‘in shewing one’s own fancy on one’s own 
ground.’’ The longer she stayed at the riverside, the better 
she liked it. ‘‘I am at present at Twickenham,” she wrote in 
July, 1723, ‘‘ which is become so fashionable, and the neighbour- 
hood so much enlarged, that ’tis more like Tunbridge or the 
Bath than a country retreat.” 


“T am now at the same distance from London that you are 
from Paris, and could fall into solitary amusements with a good 
deal of taste; but I resist it, as a temptation of Satan, and 
rather turn my endeavours to make the world as agreeable to 
me as I can, which is the true philosophy ; that of despising it 
is of no use but to hasten wrinkles ”’ (she wrote to Lady Mar 
in 1725). I ride a good deal, and have got a horse superior to 
any two-legged animal, he being without a fault. I work like 
an angel. I receive visits upon idle days, and I shade my life 
as I do my tent-stitch, that is, make as easy transitions as I 
can from business to pleasure; the one would be too flaring 
and gaudy without some dark shades of t’other ; and if I worked 
altogether in the grave colours, you know ’twould be quite 
dismal. Miss Skerritt is in the house with me, and Lady Staf- 
ford has taken a lodging at Richmond: as their ages are dif- 
ferent, and both agreeable in their kind, I laugh with the 
one, or reason with the other, as I happen to be in a gay or 
serious humour; and I manage my friends with such a strong 
yet with a gentle hand, that they are both willing to do whatever 
[ have a mind to.” 


“ Molly,” that is, Maria Skerritt or Skirrett, is best known 
for her connection with Sir Robert Walpole. There was nothing 


Her Life and Letters 187 


clandestine about the relationship: it was openly avowed. 
Miss Skerritt, who was the daughter of a London merchant, had 
great good looks and an ample fortune, and Walpole declared 
that she was indispensable to his happiness. She was received 
everywhere, and moved in fashionable society. It was to Lady 
Walpole and Molly Skerritt that Gay alluded in the song that he 
put in the mouth of Macheath (who was meant for Robert 
Walpole) : 


‘““ How happy could I be with either, 
Were t’other dear Charmer away ! ”’ 


Lady Walpole survived until the summer of 1738, and after 
her death the others married. The second Lady Walpole died 
of a miscarriage in June, 1739, to the great and enduring sorrow 
of her husband. For the surviving child, Walpole, when he 
accepted a peerage in 1742,secured the rankof an earl’sdaughter. 

Lady Mary now spent her time betweenLondon and Twicken- 
ham. At Court, she was as popular as ever with the King ; 
and she was liked in literary circles, and on good terms with 
Young, Arbuthnot, Garth, and the rest of the set. “I see 
every body but converse with nobody but des amies choisses ; 
in the first rank of these are Lady Stafford and dear Molly 
Skerritt, both of whom have now the additional merit of being 
old acquaintances, and never having given me any reason to 
complain of either of ’em. I pass some days with the Duchess of 
Montagu, who might be a reigning beauty if she pleased. Isee 
the whole town every Sunday, and select a few that I retain to 
supper. In short, if life could be always what it is, I believe I 
have so much humility in my temper I could be contented 
without anything better than this two or three hundred years 
but, alas ! 


‘ Dulness, and wrinkles, and disease, must come, 
And age, and death’s irrevocable doom.’ ”’ 


Lady Mary, who had some two-score years still to live, 
began at this time to deplore her increasing age. ‘‘ For my own 





188 Lady Mary Wortley Montagu : 


part,” she wrote to Lady Mar, ‘‘ I have some coteries where 
wit and pleasure reign, and I should not fail to amuse myself 
tolerably enough, but for the d——d d d quality of growing 
older every day, and my present joys are made imperfect by 
fears of the future.’’ However, this depression was not always 
on her, and later she was writing : 





“T think this is the first time in my life that a letter of yours 
has lain by me two posts unanswered. You'll wonder to hear 
that short silence is occasioned by not having a moment un- 
employed at Twickenham ; but I pass many hours on horse- 
back, and, I’ll assure you, ride stag-hunting, which I know you'll 
stare tohear of. I have arrived to vast courage and skill that 
way, and am as well pleased with it as with the acquisition of 
anewsense: his Royal Highness [the Prince of Wales] hunts in 
Richmond Park, and I make one of the beau monde in his train. 
I desire you after this account not to name the word old woman 
to me any more: I approach to fifteen nearer than I did ten 
years ago, and am in hopes to improve every year in health and 
vivacity.”’ 


Lady Mary’s tongue made her many enemies in society, and 
when her tongue failed her she brought her pen into action. 
Her love of scandal must have gone far to make her unpopular, 
and if her letters to her sister at Paris had been published 
she would have found herself with scarcely a friend in the 
world. 

Correspondence between Lady Mary, from London or 
Twickenham, to her sister, the Countess of Mar, at Paris, was a 
very one-sided affair. This was, in part, owing to the fact that 
Lord Mar was, of course, suspect, and that letters to him or to 
members of his family and household were (in all probability) 
intercepted in this country. Lady Mary, who had suspected 
this more than once, became more and more convinced that her 
suspicions were justified. ‘‘ I have writ to you at least five- 
and-forty letters, dear sister, without receiving any answer, and 





Her Life and Letters 189 


resolved not to confide in post-house fidelity any more, being 
firmly persuaded that they never came to your hands, or you 
would not refuse one line to let me know how you do, which is 
and ever will be of great importance to me.”” That was written 
at Christmas, 1722, and though in the meantime Lady Mary 
heard from her sister, she realised that if she wanted her letters 
to arrive she must be careful as to the topics upon which she 
discoursed. ‘“‘ Letters are so surely opened, I dare say nothing 
to you either of our intrigues or duels, both of which would 
afford great matter of mirth and speculation.”’ The difficulties 
of communication did not decrease. ‘‘ I have writ to you twice 
since I received yours in answer to that I sent by Mr. de 
Caylus,’’ she remarked a little later; ‘‘ but I believe none of 
what I send by the post ever come to your hands, nor ever will 
while they are directed to Mr. Waters, for reasons that you 
may easily guess. I wish you would give me a safer direction ; 
it is very seldom I can have the opportunity of a private 
messenger, and it is very often that I have a mind to write to 
my dear sister.”’ 


Lady Mary, of course, often stayed in London, and in her 
correspondence are many references to her friends and her 
doings. 


“ Operas flourish more than ever, and I have been in a tract 
of going every time,” she wrote to her sister in April, 1723. 
“The people I live most with are none of your acquaintance ; 
the Duchess of Montagu excepted, whom I continue to see 
often. Her daughter Belle is at this instant in the paradisal 
state of receiving visits every day from a passionate lover, who 
is her first Jove; whom she thinks the finest gentleman in 
Europe, and is, besides that, Duke of Manchester. Hermamma 
and I often laugh and sigh reflecting on her felicity, the con- 
summation of which will be in a fortnight. In the mean time 
they are permitted to be alone together every day and all the 
day.” 





190 Lady Mary Wortley Montagu : 


In Lady Mary’s very best vein is the following letter, 
written about the same time, and also addressed to her sister : 


‘“T am yet in this wicked town, but purpose to leave it as 
soon as the Parliament rises. Mrs. Murray and all her satel- 
lites have so seldom fallen in my way, I can say little about 
them. Your old friend Mrs. Lowther is still fair and young, and 
in pale pink every night in the Parks; but, after being highly 
in favour, poor I am in utter disgrace, without my being able to 
guess wherefore, except she fancied me the author or abettor of 
two vile ballads written on her dying adventure, which I am so 
innocent of that I never saw [them]. A propos of ballads, a 
most delightful one is said or sung in most houses about our 
dear beloved plot, which has been laid firstly to Pope, and 
secondly to me, when God knows we have neither of us wit 
enough to make it. Mrs. Hervey lies-in of a female child. 
Lady Rich is happy in dear Sir Robert’s absence, and the 
polite Mr. Holt’s return to his allegiance, who, though in a 
treaty of marriage with one of the prettiest girls in town (Lady 
Jane Wharton), appears better with her than ever. Lady 
Betty Manners is on the brink of matrimony with a Yorkshire 
Mr. Monckton of £3,000 per annum: it isa match of the young 
duchess’s making, and she thinks matter of great triumph over 
the two coquette beauties, who can get nobody to have and to 
hold ; they are decayed to a piteous degree and so neglected 
that they are grown constant and particular to the two ugliest 
fellows in London. Mrs. Pulteney condescends to be publicly 
kept by the noble Earl of Cadogan ; whether Mr. Pulteney has 
a pad nag deducted out of the profits for his share I cannot tell, 
but he appears very well satisfied with it. This is, I think, the 
whole state of love; as to that of wit, it splits itself into ten 
thousand branches; poets increase and multiply to that 
stupendous degree, you see them at every turn, even in em- 
broidered coats and pink-coloured top-knots ; making verses 
is almost as common as taking snuff, and God can tell what 
miserable stuff people carry about in their pockets, and offer to 





Her Life and Letters IQI 


all their acquaintances, and you know one cannot refuse reading 
and taking a pinch. This is a very great grievance, and so 
particularly shocking to me, that I think our wise lawgivers 
should take it into consideration, and appoint a fast-day to 
beseech Heaven to put a stop to this epidemical disease, as 
they did last year for the plague with great success.” 


Another typical letter from Lady Mary contains a story of 
the class that strongly appealed to her: 


“The most diverting story about town at present is in rela- 
tion to Edgcombe ; though your not knowing the people con- 
cerned so well as I do, will, I fear hinder you from being so 
much entertained by it. I can’t tell whether you know a tall, 
musical, silly, ugly thing, niece to Lady Essex Roberts, who 
is called Miss Leigh. She went a few days ago to visit Mrs. 
Betty Tichborne, Lady Sunderland’s sister, who lives in the 
house with her, and was denied at the door; but, with the 
true manners of a great fool, told the porter that if his lady was 
at home she was very positive she would be very glad to see 
her. Upon which she was shewed up stairs to Miss Tich- 
borne, who was ready to drop down at the sight of her, and 
could not help asking her in a grave way how she got in, being 
denied to every mortal, intending to pass the evening in devout 
preparation. Miss Leigh said she had sent away her chair and 
servants, with intent of staying till nine o’clock. There was 
then no remedy, and she was asked to sit down ; but had not 
been there a quarter of an hour when she heard a violent rap 
at the door, and somebody vehemently run up stairs. Miss 
Tichborne seemed much surprised, and said she believed it 
was Mr. Edgcombe, and was quite amazed how he took it into 
his head to visit her. During these excuses enter Edgcombe, 
who appeared frighted at the sight of a third person. Miss 
Tichborne told him almost at his entrance that the lady he 
saw there was perfect mistress of music, and as he passionately 
loved it, she thought she could not oblige him more than by 





192 Lady Mary Wortley Montagu : 





desiring her to play. Miss Leigh very willingly sat to the 
harpsichord; upon which her audience decamped to the 
adjoining room, and left her to play over three or four lessons 
to herself. They returned, and made what excuses they could, 
but said very frankly they had not heard her performance, and 
begged her to begin again ; which she complied with, and gave 
them the opportunity of a second retirement. Miss Leigh was 
by this time all fire and flame to see her heavenly harmony 
thus slighted ; and when they returned, told them she did not 
understand playing toan empty room. Mr. Edgcombe begged 
ten thousand pardons, and said, if she would play Godz, it was 
a tune he died to hear, and it would be an obligation he should 
never forget. She made answer she would do him a much 
greater favour by her absence, which she supposed was all 
that was necessary at that time ; and ran down stairs in a great 
fury to publish as fast as she could ; and was so indefatigable 
in this pious design, that in four-and-twenty hours all the people 
in town had heard the story. My Lady Sunderland could not 
avoid hearing this story, and three days after, invited Miss 
Leigh to dinner, where, in the presence of her sister and all 
the servants, she told her she was very sorry she had been so 
rudely treated in her house; that it was very true Mr. Edg- 
combe had been a perpetual companion of her sister’s these two 
years, and she thought it high time he should explain himself, 
and she expected her sister should act in this matter as dis- 
creetly as Lady K. [Katherine] Pelham had done in the like 
case ; who had given Mr. Pelham four months to resolve in, 
and after that he was either to marry her or to lose her for ever. 
Sir Robert Sutton interrupted her by saying, that he never 
doubted the honour of Mr. Edgcombe, and was persuaded he 
could have no ill design in his family. The affair stands thus, 
and Mr. Edgcombe has four months to provide himself else- 
where ; during which time he has free egress and regress ; and 
tis seriously the opinion of many that a wedding will in good 
earnest be brought about by this admirable conduct. 

‘““T send you a novel instead of a letter, but, as it is in your 





Her Life and Letters 193 


power to shorten it when you please, by reading no farther than 
you like, I will make no excuses for the length of it.” 


Lady Mary had contracted an intimacy with Griselda Baillie, 
the wife of Mr. (afterwards Sir A.) Murray, of Stanhope, after 
her return from abroad, and there is frequent mention of her in 
the correspondence ; but the friendship came to an abrupt end 
in 1725. 


“ Among the rest a very odd whim has entered the little head 
of Mrs. Murray : do you knowshe won't visit me this winter ? ”’ 
Lady Mary wrote to Lady Mar. ‘I, according to the usual 
integrity of my heart, and simplicity of my manners, with 
great naiveté desired to explain with her on the subject, and 
she answered that she was convinced that I had made the ballad 
upon her, and was resolved never to speak to me again. I 
answered (which was true), that I utterly defied her to have any 
one single proof of my making it, without being able to get any 
thing from her, but repetitions that she knew it. I cannot 
suppose that any thing you have said should occasion this 
rupture, and the reputation of a quarrel is always so ridiculous 
on both sides, that you will oblige me in mentioning it to her, 
for tis now at that pretty pass, she won’t curtsey to me when- 
ever she mets me, which is superlatively silly (if she really knew 
_ it), after a suspension of resentment for two years together.”’ 


Mrs. Murray had had an unpleasant adventure with her foot- 
man, Arthur Grey, who had broken into her bedroom. Lady 
Mary had written and circulated An Epistle from Arthur 
Grey, and later another, and an improper, ballad had appeared 
under the title of Vivtwe in Danger. Mrs. Murray was firmly 
convinced that both pieces came from the same pen. 

Lady Mar, on receipt of the above letter, proposed to act as 
peacemaker. “I give you thanks for the good offices you 
promise with regard to Mrs. Murray,’ Lady Mary wrote to her 
in reply, “‘ and I shall think myself sincerely obliged to you, as 

N 





194 Lady Mary Wortley Montagu : 


I already am on many accounts. ‘Tis very disagreeable in 
her to go about behaving and talking as she does, and very silly 
into the bargain.”’ 


“Mrs. Murray is in open war with me in such a manner 
as makes her very ridiculous without doing me much harm; 
my moderation having a very bright pretence of shewing itself ”’ 
(she wrote to Lady Mar). “ Firstly, she was pleased to attack 
me in very Billingsgate at a masquerade, where she was as 
visible as ever she was in her own clothes. I had the temper 
not only to keep silence myself, but enjoined it to the person 
with me; who would have been very glad to have shewn his 
great skill in sousing upon that occasion. She endeavoured to 
sweeten him by very exorbitant praises of his person, which 
might even have been mistaken for making love from a woman of © 
less celebrated virtue ; and concluded her oration with pious 
warnings to him, to avoid the conversation of one so unworthy 
his regard as myself, who to her certain knowledge loved another 
man. This last article, 1 own, piqued me more than all her pre- 
ceding civilities. | The gentleman she addressed herself to had 
a very slight acquaintance with me, and might possibly go 
away inthe opinion that she had been confidante in some very 
notorious affair of mine. However, I made her no answer at 
the time, but you may imagine I laid up these things in my 
heart ; and the first assembly I had the honour to meet her at, 
with a meek tone of voice, asked her how I had deserved so 
much abuse at her hands, which I assured her I would never 
return. She denied it in the spirit of lying ; and in the spirit 
of folly owned it at length. I contented myself with telling 
her she was very ill advised, and thus we parted. But two 
days ago, when Sir Geoffrey Kneller’s pictures were to be sold, 
she went to my sister Gower, and very civily asked if she 
intended to bid for your picture ; assuring her that, if she did, 
she would not offer at purchasing it. You know crimp and 
quadrille incapacitate that poor soul from ever buying any 
thing ; but she told me this circumstance ; and I expected the 








Her Life and Letters 195 


same civility from Mrs. Murray, having no way provoked her to 
the contrary. But she not only came to the auction, but with 
all possible spite bid up the picture, though I told her that, if you 
pleased to have it, I would gladly part with it to you, though 
to no other person. This had no effect upon her, nor her 
malice any more on me than the loss of ten guineas extra- 
ordinary, which I paid upon her account. The picture is in my 
possession, and at your service if you please to have it. She 
went to the masquerade a few nights afterwards, and had the 
good sense to tell people there that she was very unhappy in 
not meeting me, being come there on purpose to abuse me. 
What profit or pleasure she has in these ways I cannot find 
out. This I know, that revenge has so few joys for me, I shall 
never lose so much time as to undertake it.”’ 


So early as 1721, Lady Mary, writing to Lady Mar, mentions 
that “‘ the most considerable incident that has happened a good 
while, was the ardent affection that Mrs. Hervey and her dear 
spouse * took to me. They visited me twice or thrice a day, 
and were perpetually cooing in my rooms. I was complaisant 
a great while ; but (as you know) my talent has never lain much 
that way. I grew at last so weary of those birds of paradise, I 
fled to Twickenham, as much to avoid their persecutions as for 
my own health, which is still in a declining way.’’ Lady Mary 
did not like Lady Hervey, the beautiful “ Molly ” Lepell, whom 
Gay eulogised : 


‘‘Hervey, would you know the passion 
You have kindled in my breast ? 
Trifling is the inclination 
That by words can be expressed. 


In my silence see the lover ; 
True love is by silence known ; 

In my eyes you'll best discover, 
All the power of your own.” 








* The Hon. John Hervey (1696-1743), younger son of John, first Earl of 
Bristol; known as Lord Hervey after the death of his elder brother Carr 
in 1723; Vice-Chamberlain of George II’s Household, 1730; created 
Baron Hervey of Ickworth, 1733, Lord Privy Seal, 1740-1742. 








196 Lady Mary Wortley Montagu : 


For Hervey, however, Lady Mary came to have a strong 
liking that many believed to have, as she would have said, 
bordered upon “‘ the tender ”’ ; although it is on record that she 
once remarked that she divided the human race into men, 
women, and Herveys. They met whenever they could ; when 
they could not meet they corresponded. Pope bitterly re- 
sented the intimacy between Lady Mary and Hervey, and in the 
Epistle of Arbuthnot gave vent to the malignity with which 
his soul had been for years overflowing : 


“P. Let Sporus tremble. 

A. What? That thing of silk; 
Sporus, that mere white curd of ass’s milk ? 
Satire or sense, alas! can Sporus feel ? 
Who breaks a butterfly on the wheel ? 

P. Yet let me flap this bug with gilded wings, 
This painted child of dirt, that stinks and stings ; 
Whose buzz the witty and the fair annoys, 
Yet wit ne’er tastes and beauty ne’er enjoys: 
So well-bred spaniels civilly delight 
In mumbling of the game they dare not bite. 
Eternal smiles his emptiness betray, 
As shallow streams run dimpling all the way. 
Whether in florid impotence he speaks, 
And, as the prompter breathes, the puppet squeaks ; 
Or at the ear of Eve,* familiar toad, 
Half froth, half venom, spits himself abroad, 
In pun, or politics, or tales, or lies, 
Or spite, or smut, or rhymes, or blasphemies. 
His wit all see-saw, between that and this, 
Now high, now low, now make up, now miss, 
And he himself one vile antithesis. 
Amphibious thing! that acting either part, 
The trifling head, or the corrupted heart ; 
Fop at the hostel, flatterer at the board, — 
Now trips a lady, and_now struts a Lord. 
Eve’s tempter thus the Rabbins have expressed, 
A cherub’s face—a reptile all the rest. 
Beauty that shocks you, parts that none can trust, 
Wit that can creep, and pride that licks the dust.” 


This was a heavy price to pay for the favours even of Lady 
Mary Wortley Montagu. 
Whatever the relations between Lady Mary and Hervey, 


* Queen Caroline. 


Her Life and Letters 197 


Lady Hervey was not indulgent to them, which may have 
inspired Lady Mary to write to her sister: “‘ Lady Hervey, 
by aiming too high, has fallen very low ; and is reduced to trying 
to persuade folks she has an intrigue, and gets nobody to believe 
her ; the man in question taking a great deal of pains to clear 
himself of the scandal.’”’ Lady Hervey and Mrs. Murray were 
active partisans of Lord Grange in his persecution of Lady Mary, 
and aided him in his attempts to get possession of her sister, 
Lady Mar. 

The bad terms on which Lady Mary and Lady Hervey were 
is most clearly defined by Lady Louisa Stuart: ‘ At the time 
of Lady Mary Wortley’s return home [in 1762, after an absence 
abroad of more than twenty years], Lady Hervey was living in 
great intimacy with Lady Bute, for whom she professed, and it 
is believed really felt, the highest esteem and admiration. 
On hearing of her mother’s arrival, she came to her, owning 
herself embarrassed by the fear of giving her pain or offence, 
but yet compelled to declare that formerly something had passed 
between her and Lady Mary which made any renewal of their 
acquaintance impossible ; therefore, if she forbore visiting her, 
she threw herself upon Lady Bute’s friendship and candour for 
pardon. Noexplanation followed. Lady Bute, who must have 
early seen the necessity of taking care not to be entangled in 
her mother’s quarrels, which, to speak truth, were seldom few 
in number, only knew that there had been an old feud between 
her, Lady Hervey, and Lady Hervey’s friend, Mrs. (or Lady) 
Murray; the particulars of which, forgotten even then by 
everybody but themselves, may well be now beyond recall.”’ 


During this period there were several domestic happenings 
in Lady Mary’s family. 

On March 5, 1726, died her father, the Duke of Kingston. 
After the accession of George I, the Marquess of Dorchester 
(as he then was) was high in favour at Court, and honours were 
showered upon him with a lavish hand. He was in 1714 
appointed Lord Lieutenant of Wiltshire, and in the same year 








198 Lady Mary Wortley Montagu : 


Chief Justice in Eyre, north of Trent, which latter dignity he 
held for two years. In August, 1715, he was created Duke of 
Kingston upon Hull, in the county of Yorkshire. He held the 
high office of Lord Privy Seal from 1716 to 1719 in the Ad- 
ministrations of Townshend and Stanhope, in the latter year 
becoming Lord President of the Council. When Walpole 
became First Lord of the Treasury, the Duke again became Lord 
Privy Seal, and held the post until his death. He was given the 
Garter in 1719, and was four times named as one of the Lord 
Justices of the Realm during the King’s absences from England 
on visits to Hanover. He had married, secondly, Isabella, 
fifth daughter of William Bentinck, first Earl of Portland, by his 
first wife, Anne, daughter of Sir Edward Villiers, who survived 
him two years. 

The Duke had never really forgiven Lady Mary for eloping. 
Her defiance of him hurt his pride inordinately. Everyone 
else to some degree at least he could control ; his young daughter 
not at all. Only so far were they ever reconciled that he would 
occasionally visit the Montagus at their London house and 
play with the children. 

In his later years the Duke’s health was unsatisfactory, but 
it was not thought that the end was so near. “I have now to 
tell you of the surprising death of my father, and a great deal 
of surprising management of the people about him, which I 
leave informing you until another time, being now under some 
spirit of hurry myself,’’ Lady Mary wrote to Lady Mar in March, - 
1726. “lam unfeignedly sorry that I cannot send you word of 
a considerable legacy for yourself.” On April 15 she supple- 
mented this account; but not to a degree to make it very 
intelligible : 


“To be sure, the shock must be very great to you whenever 
you heard it ; as indeed it was to us all here, being so sudden. 
It is to no purpose now to relate particulars, but only renewing 
our grief. I can’t forbear telling you the Duchess has behaved 
very oddly in endeavouring to get the guardianship of the 








Her Life and Letters 199 


young Duke and his sister, contrary to her husband’s will ; 
but the boy, when he was fourteen, confirmed the trustees his 
grandfather left ; sothat ended all disputes ; and Lady Fanny 
is to live with my aunt Cheyne. There is a vast number of 
things that have happened, and some people’s behaviour so 
extraordinary in this melancholy business, that it would be 
great ease of mind if I could tellit you; but I must not venture 
to speak too freely in a letter.” 


A week or so later, some further details were forthcoming : 


“T received yours, dear sister, this minute, and am very 
sorry both for your past illness and affliction ; though au bout 
du compte, I don’t know why filial piety should exceed fatherly 
fondness. So much by way of consolation As to the manage- 
ment at that time—I do verily believe, if my good aunt and 
sister had been less fools, and my dear mother-in-law less 
mercenary, things might have had a turn more to your advan- 
tage and mine too; when we meet, I will tell you many 
circumstances which would be tedious in a letter. I could 
not get my sister Gower to join to act with me, and mamma 
and I were in an actual scold when my poor father expired ; 
she has shewn a hardness of heart upon this occasion that 
would appear incredible to any body not capable of it them- 
selves. The addition to her jointure is, one way or other, £2000 
per annum ; so her good Grace remains a passable rich widow, 
and is already presented by the town with a variety of young 
husbands ; but I believe her constitution is not good enough to 
let her amorous inclinations get the better of her covetous.”’ 


Lady Mary was very angry, because she heard that at the 
end her father had really expressed a great deal of kindness to 
her, and even a desire of talking to her, which the Duchess 
would not permit. However, he left her in his will, she having 
married without a settlement, £6,000 for her separate use during 
her life, with reversion to her daughter. 





200 Lady Mary Wortley Montagu : 


As regards the heir, she wrote: ‘‘ The Duke of Kingston 
has hitherto had so ill an education, ’tis hard to make any 
judgment of him; he has spirit, but I fear he will never have 
his father’s good sense. As young noblemen go, ’tis possible 
he may make a good figure among them.” 

The young Duke was sent to France, and there was much 
discussion as to what should be done with his sister, Lady 
Frances Pierrepont. Her having £400 per annum for main- 
tenance, has, Lady Mary remarked ironically, “‘ awakened the 
consciences of half her relations to take care of her education, 
and (excepting myself) they have all been squabbling about her. 
My sister Gower carries her off to-morrow morning to Stafford- 
shire. The lies, twaddles, and contrivances about this affair © 
are innumerable. I should pity the poor girl if I saw she pitied 
herself.”’ 

Lady Gower did not long enjoy her victory over her friends 
and her fond relations, for she died in June, 1727. 

In May, 1732, Lord Mar died at Aix-la-Chapelle. Lady 
Mary’s sister, Lady Mar, in later years suffered from mental 
irregularity. Her brother-in-law, James Erskine, Lord Grange, 
endeavoured to secure possession of her person by some process 
of law, but was thwarted by Lady Mary, who obtained a warrant 
from the King’s Bench. For years Lady Mar remained in her 
sister's custody. Shesurvived until1761. There was a rumour 
that Lady Mary treated her badly, but there is no reason to 
believe that there was any substantial ground for the 
accusation. 

Lady Mary’s daughter, Mary, married in 1736, John Stuart, 
third Earl of Bute, the favourite of the Princess of Wales, and 
afterwards Prime Minister. 





Her Life and Letters 201 








CHAPTER XIII 


ON THE CONTINENT (1739-1744) 


Lady Mary leaves England—She does not return for twenty years— 
Montagu supposed to join her—The domestic relations of the 
Montagus—A septennial act for marriage—Lady Mary corresponds 
with her husband—Dijon—Turin— Venice— Bologna—Florence— 
The Monastery of La Trappe—Horace Walpole at Florence—His 
comments on Lady Mary and her friends—Reasons for his dislike of 
her—Rome—The Young Pretender and Henry, Cardinal York— 
Wanderings—Cheapness of life in Italy—-Lady Mary’s son, Ed- 
ward—He isa great trouble to his parents—His absurd marriage— 
His extravagance and folly—Account of his early years—He visits 
Lady Mary at Valence—Her account of the interviews. 


In July, 1739, Lady Mary went abroad. She did not return 
until the beginning of 1762, a few months before her death. 

She went abroad without her husband, and, indeed, they 
never met again. At first, apparently, he had intended to join 
her—at least so she gave Lady Pomfret to understand : 


“You have put me to a very difficult choice, yet, when I 
consider we are both in Italy, and yet do not see one another, 
I am astonished at the capriciousness of my fortune ”’ (she wrote 
from Venice late in 1739). ‘“‘ My affairs are so uncertain, I 
can answer for nothing that is future. I have taken some pains 
to put the inclination for travelling into Mr. Wortley’s head, and 
was so much afraid he would change his mind, that I hastened 
before him in order (at least) to secure my journey. He pro- 
posed following me in six weeks, his business requiring his 
presence at Newcastle. Since that, the change of scene that 
has happened in England has made his friends persuade him to 


202 Lady Mary Wortley Montagu : 


attend parliament this session: so that what his inclinations, 
which must govern mine, will be next spring I cannot absolutely 
foresee. For my own part, I like my own situation so well that 
it will be a displeasure to me to change it. To postpone such a 
conversation as yours a whole twelvemonth is a terrible ap- 
pearance ; on the other hand, I would not follow the example of 
the first of our sex, and sacrifice for a present pleasure a more 
lasting happiness. In short, I can determine nothing on this 
subject. When you are at Florence, we may debate it over 
again.”’ 


So little is known of the domestic relations of the Montagus 
that it is hazardous to advance a conjecture. One writer has 
suggested that there was a quarrel over money, but there are 
no grounds to support this. Another has it that Lady Mary’s 
flirtations or intrigues did not meet with her husband’s approval. 
Yet another thinks that Montagu found his wife with her sharp 
tongue, very ill to live with. 

The Montagus had been married for seven-and-twenty years ; 
their younger child was now twenty-one. Since Montagu assisted 
Lady Mary as a girl with her Latin studies, they do not seem to 
have had much in common. Lady Mary cut a figure in the 
social world ; Montagu was a nonentity in political life and 
seemed content soto be. Perhaps they were tired of each other, 
and welcomed a separation that at the outset was intended 
only to be temporary. “It was from the customs of the 
Turks that I first had the thought of a septennial bill for the 
benefit of married persons,’’ Lady Mary once said to Joseph 
Spence ; and it is more than likely that she would have taken 
advantage of such an Act of Parliament had it been in existence. 

That there was no definite breach is evident from the fact 
that husband and wife corresponded, though it must be con- 
fessed that her letters to her husband are almost uniformly 
dull, except when the topic is their son. On the other hand, 
there was certainly no especial degree of friendship between 
them, and in one of her letters Lady Mary said pointedly : 





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Her Life and Letters 203 


“You do not seem desirous to hear news, which makes me not 
trouble you with any.’’ For the rest there are descriptions of 
the places which Lady Mary visited and an account of the people 
she met. | 

Lady Mary proceeded from Dover to Calais, and thence to 
Dijon, where she arrived in the middle of August. Wherever 
she went she found herself among friends. ‘“ There is not any 
town in France where there is not English, Scotch or Irish 
families established ; and I have met with people who have seen 
me (though often such as I do not remember to have seen) in 
every town I have passed through ; and I think the farther I 
go, the more acquaintance I meet,’”’ she told her husband. 
At Dijon there were no less than sixteen families of fashion. 
Lord Mansel had lodgings in the house with her at Dijon, and 
Mrs. Whitsted, a daughter of Lord Bathurst, resided in the same 
street. She met Lady Peterborough, and just missed the Duke 
of Rutland, at St. Omer. At Port Beauvoisin she ran across 
Lord Carlisle. 

From Turin, she travelled, on the advice of Lord Carlisle, to 
Vienna, which he declared was the best place in Italy in which 
to stay. The fact that it was the intention of Lady Pomfret 
to remove from Sienna to Vienna was the deciding factor. 
She liked the latter city so well that she remained there until 
August of the following year (1740). It had one great merit in 
Lady Mary’s eyes, that it wascheap. Next to that, she derived 
pleasure from the consideration with which she was treated. 
“ [like this place extremely, and am of opinion you would do so 
too : as to cheapness, I think ’tis impossible to find any part of 
Europe where both the laws and customs are so contrived 
purposely to avoid expenses of all sorts ; and here is a universal 
liberty that is certainly one of the greatest agvéments in life. 
We have foreign ambassadors from all parts of the world, who 
have all visited me. I have received visits from many of the 
noble Venetian ladies ; and upon the whole I am very much 
at my ease here. If I was writing to Lady Sophia, I would tell 
her of the comedies and operas which are every night, at very 





204 Lady Mary Wortley Montagu : 


low prices ; but I believe even you will agree with me that they 
are ordered to be as convenient as possible, every mortal going 
in a mask, and consequently no trouble in dressing, or forms of 
any kind.”” So Lady Mary wrote to Lady Pomfret on October 
10 ; and a few days later she supplemented the information in a 
letter to her husband : 


“T find myself very well here. I am visited by the most 
considerable people of the town, and all the foreign ministers, 
who have most of them made great entertainments for me. I 
dined yesterday at the Spanish ambassador’s, who even sur- 
passed the French in magnificence. He met me at the hall- 
door, and the lady at the stair-head, to conduct me through the 
long apartment ; in short, they could not have shown me more 
honours, if I had been an ambassadress. She desired me to 
think myself patrona del casa, and offered me all the services 
in her power, to wait on me where I pleased, &c. They have 
the finest palace in Venice. What is very convenient, I hear 
it is not at all expected I should make any dinners, it not being 
the fashion for anybody to do it here but the foreign ministers ; 
and I find I can live here very genteelly on my allowance. I 
have already a very agreeable general acquaintance ; though 
when I came, here was no one I had ever seen in my life, but 
the Cavaliere Grimani and the Abbé Conti. I must do them 
[the] justice to say they have taken pains to be obliging to me. 
The Procurator brought his niece (who is at the head of his 
family) to wait on me; and they invited me to reside with 
them at their palace on the Brent, but I did not think it proper 
to accept of it. He also introduced me to the Signora Pisani 
Mocenigo, who is the most considerable lady here. The Nuncio 
is particularly civil to me; he has been several times to see 
me, and has offered me the use of his box at the opera. I 
have many others at my service, and, in short it, is impossible 
for a stranger to be better received than Iam. Here are no 
English, except a Mr. Bertie and his governor, who arrived two 
days ago, and who intends but a short stay.” 





Her Life and Letters 205 





Lady Mary thoroughly enjoyed herself at Venice, where she 
found a variety of occupations to occupy her time. In the 
mornings she was “‘wrapt up among my books with anti- 
quarians and virtuosi’’; in the afternoons there were visits 
to pay and receive ; in the evenings dinners (at other people’s 
expense—which fact did not detract from her pleasure), assem- 
blies, and the theatre and the opera. In fact, she found there 
every delight except scandal, but that she did not miss, because 
she said, she “ never found any pleasure in malice.”” So strange 
a thing is human nature that perhaps she believed it ! 


“Upon my word, I have spoken my real thoughts in relation 
to Venice ; but I will be more particular in my description, 
lest you should find the same reason of complaint you have 
hitherto experienced ”’ (she wrote in November to Lady Pom- 
fret). “‘ It is impossible to give any rule for the agreeableness 
of conversation; but here is so great a variety, I think ’tis 
impossible not to find some to suit every taste. Here are 
foreign ministers from all parts of the world, who, as they have 
no Court to employ their hours, are overjoyed to enter into 
commerce with any stranger of distinction. As I am the only 
lady here at present, I can assure you I am courted, as if I was 
the only one in the world. As to all the conveniences of life, 
they are to be had at very easy rates; and for those that love 
public places, here are two playhouses and two operas con- 
stantly performed every night, at exceeding low prices. But 
you will have no reason to examine that article, no more than 
myself ; all the ambassadors having boxes appointed them ; 
and I have every one of their keys at my service, not only for 
my own person, but whoever I please to carry or send. I do 
not make much use of this privilege, to their great astonishment. 
It is the fashion for the greatest ladies to walk the streets, 
which are admirably paved ; and a mask, price sixpence, with 
a little cloak, and the head of a domino, the genteel dress to 
carry youeverywhere. The greatest equipage is a gondola, that 
holds eight persons, and is the price of an English chair. And 


206 Lady Mary Wortley Montagu : 


it is so much the established fashion for everybody to live 
their own way, that nothing is more ridiculous than censuring 
the actions of another. This would be terrible in London, 
where we have little other diversion ; but for me, who never 
found any pleasure in malice, I bless my destiny that has con- 
ducted me to a part where people are better employed than in 
talking of the affairs of their acquaintance. It is at present 
excessive cold (which is the only thing I have to find fault with), 
but in recompense we have a clear bright sun, and fogs and 
factions things unheard of in this climate.” 


Certainly everybody did the utmost to make Venice 
agreeable to Lady Mary. With all her good opinion of herself 
and of her position, she found herself treated with more dis- 
tinction than she “ could possibly expect.”” When, on Christ- 
mas Eve, she went to see the ceremony of High Mass celebrated 
by the Doge, she was surprised to find that he had set aside for 
her and the Prince of Wolfenbiittel a gallery, to which none 


were admitted but their parties. “‘“A greater compliment 
could not have been paid me if I had been a sovereign Prin- 
cess.’ To her husband she wrote: ‘It is impossible to be 


better treated, I may even say more courted, than I am here,”’ 
All the English who came to Venice, as a matter of course 
paid their respects to Lady Mary. 


‘‘ Lord Fitzwilliam arrived here three days ago ; he came to 
see me the next day, as all the English do, who are much sur- 
prised at the civilities and familiarity which I am with the 
noble ladies. Everybody tells me ‘tis what never was done 
but to myself ; and I own I have a little vanity in it, because 
the French ambassador told me when I first came, that though 
the Procurator Grimani might persuade them to visit me, he 
defied me to enter into any sort of intimacy with them : instead 
of which they call me out almost every day on some diversion 
or other, and are desirous to have me in all their parties of 
pleasure. I am invited to-morrow to the Foscarini to dinner, 





Her Life and Letters 207 





which is to be followed by a concert and a ball, where I shall 
be the only stranger, though here are at present a great number 
come to see the regatta, which is fixed for the 29th of this 
month, N.S. I shall see it at the Procurator Grimani’s, where 
there will be a great entertainment that day. My own house 
is very well situated to see it, being on the Grand Canal; but 
I would not refuse him and his niece, since they seem desirous 
of my company, and I shall oblige some other ladies with my 
windows. They are hired at a great rate to see the show.”’ 


There was just one fly in the ointment. 


‘“T am impatient to hear good sense pronounced in my 
native tongue; having only heard my language out of the 
mouths of boys and governors for these five months ”’ (she 
complained to Lady Pomfret). ““ Here are inundations of them 
broke in upon us this carnival, and my apartment must be 
their refuge ; the greater part of them having kept an inviolable 
fidelity to the languages their nurses taught them; their whole 
business abroad (as far as I can perceive) being to buy new 
clothes, in which they shine in some obscure coffee-house, 
where they are sure of meeting only one another; and after 
the important conquest of some waiting gentlewoman of an 
opera queen, whom perhaps they remember as long as they 
- live, return to England excellent judges of men and manners. 
I find the spirit of patriotism so strong in me every time I see 
them, that I look on them as the greatest blockheads in nature ; 
and, tosay truth, the compound of booby and petit maitre makes 
up a very odd sort of animal.”’ 

It was not until the middle of August (1740) that Lady 
Mary left Venice, going first to Bologna, where she stayed a 
day or two “to prepare for the dreadful passage of the Apen- 
nines.’ On her way to Florence, she visited the monastery of 
La Trappe—her account of which may be given as a com- 
panion portrait to that of the nunnery printed in an earlier 
chapter. 


208 Lady Mary Wortley Montagu : 








“The monastery of La Trappe, is of French origin, and one 
of the most austere and self-denying orders I have met with. 
In this gloomy retreat it gave me pain to observe the infatuation — 
of men, who have devoutly reduced themselves to a much worse 
condition than that of the beasts. Folly, you see, is the lot of 
humanity, whether it arises in the flowery paths of pleasure, 
or the thorny ones of an ill-judged devotion. But of the 
two sorts of fools, I shall always think that the merry one has 
the most eligible fate ; and I cannot well form a notion of that 
spiritual and ecstatic joy, that is mixed with sighs, groans, 
hunger, and thirst, and the other complicated miseries of 
monastic discipline. It is a strange way of going to work for 
happiness to excite an enmity between soul and body, which 
Nature and Providence have designed to live together in union 
and friendship, and which we cannot separate like man and 
wife when they happen to disagree. The profound silence that 
is enjoined upon the monks of La Trappe is a singular circum- 
stance of their unsociable and unnatural discipline, and were 
this injunction never to be dispensed with, it would be needless 
to visit them in any other character than as a collection of 
statues; but the superior of the convent suspended in our 
favour that rigorous law, and allowed one of the mutes to con- 
verse with me, and answer a few discreet questions. He told 
me that the monks of this order in France are still more austere 
than those of Italy, as they never taste wine, flesh, fish, or eggs ; 
but live entirely upon vegetables. The story that is told of 
the institution of this order is remarkable, and is well attested, 
if my information is good. Its founder was a French nobleman 
whose name was Bouthillier de Rancé, a man of pleasure and 
gallantry, which were converted into the deepest gloom of 
devotion by the following incident. His affairs obliged him to 
absent himself, for some time, from a lady with whom he had 
lived in the most intimate and tender connexions of successful 
love. At his return to Paris he proposed to surprise her agree- 
ably, and, at the same time, to satisfy his own impatient desire 
of seeing her, by going directly and without ceremony to her 





Her Life and Letters 209 


apartment by a back stair, which he was well acquainted with— 
but think of the spectacle that presented itself to him at his 
entrance into the chamber that had so often been the scene of 
love’s highest raptures! his mistress dead—dead of the small- 
pox—disfigured beyond expression—a loathsome mass of 
putrified matter—and the surgeon separating the head from the 
body, because the coffin had been made too short! He stood 
for a moment motionless in amazement, and filled with horror— 
and then retired from the world, shut himself up in the convent 
of La Trappe, where he passed the remainder of his days in 
the most cruel and disconsolate devotion.—Let us quit this 
sad subject.” 


The news that Lady Mary was coming to Florence came to 
the ears of Horace Walpole, who was staying there. If he had 
not yet made her acquaintance, he certainly knew much about 
her. ‘‘ On Wednesday we expect a third she-meteor,” he wrote 
to Richard West, July 31, 1740. ‘‘ Those learned luminaries 
the Ladies Pomfret and Walpole * are to be joined by the Lady 
Mary Wortley Montagu. You have not been witness to the 
rhapsody of mystic nonsense which these two fair ones debate 
incessantly, and consequently cannot figure what must be the 
issue of this triple alliance: we have some idea of it. Only 
figure the coalition of prudery, debauchery, sentiment, history, 
Greek, Latin, French, Italian and metaphysics ; all, except the 
second, understood by halves, by quarters, or not at all. You 
shall have the journals of this notable academy.’’ Walpole 
sent, some seven weeks later, an account of the lady to the Hon. 
Henry Seymour Conway: “ Did I tell you Lady Mary Wortley 
is here? She laughs at my Lady Walpole, scolds my Lady 
Pomfret, and is laughed at by the whole town. Her dress, her 
avarice, and her impudence must amaze any one that never 
heard hername. She wears a foul mob, that does not cover her 
greasy black locks, that hang loose, never combed or curled, 








* The wife of the eldest son of Sir Robert Walpole, who in 1723 was 
created Baron Walpole. He later succeeded as (second) Earl of Orford. 


O 





210 Lady Mary Wortley Montagu 


an old mazarine blue wrapper, that gapes open and discovers a 
canvas petticoat. Her face swollen violently on one side is 
partly covered with a plaister, and partly with white paint, 
which for cheapness she has bought so coarse, that you would 
not use it to wash a chimney.”’ 

In another letter, to Richard West (October 2, 1740), 





Walpole gives an account of the “Academy.” “ But for the 
Academy, I am not of it ; but frequently in company with it,” 
he wrote. ‘’Tis all disjointed. Madame ,»* who, though a 


learned lady, has not lost her modesty and character, is ex- 
tremely scandalised with the two other dames, especially with 
Moll Worthless,t who knows no bounds. Sheisat rivalry with 
Lady W t for a certain Mr. , whom perhaps you knew at 
Oxford. . . . He fell into sentiments with my Lady W., and 
was happy to catch her at platonic love ; but as she seldom stops 
there, the poor man will be frightened out of his senses when 
she shall break the matter to him, for he never dreamt that her 
purposes were so naught. Lady Mary is so far gone that to get 
him from the mouth of her antagonist, she literally took him out 
to dance country dances at a formal ball, where there was no 
measure kept in laughing at her. . . . She played at Pharaoh 
two or three times at Princess Craon’s, where she cheats horse 
and foot. She is really entertaining: I have been reading her 
works, which she lends out in manuscript ; but they are too 
womanish : I like few of her performances.” 








Lady Mary was, of course, entirely ignorant of Horace 
Walpole’s feelings about her, of which naturally he showed no 
sign in social intercourse with her. ‘‘ I saw him often both at 
Florence and Genoa, and you may believe I know him,” she 
told her daughter. ‘I was well acquainted with Mr. Walpole 
at Florence, and indeed he was particularly civil to me,” she 
wrote on another occasion. “I have great encouragement to 
ask favour of him, if I did not know that few people have so 


* Lady Pomfret. + Lady Mary Wortley Montagu. 
t Lady Walpole. 





HORACE WALPOLE. 


p. 210. 





Her Life and Letters 2II 


good memories to remember so many years backwards as have 
passed since I have seen him. If he has treated the character. 
of Queen Elizabeth with disrespect [in A Catalogue of the 
Royal and Noble Authors of England], all the women should 
tear him to pieces, for abusing the glory of their sex. Neither is 
it just to put her in the list of authors, having never published 
anything, though we have Mr. Camden’s authority that she 
wrote many valuable pieces, chiefly Greek translations. I wish 
all monarchs would bestow their leisure hours on such studies : 
perhaps they would not be very useful to mankind ; but it may 
be asserted, for a certain truth, their own minds could be more 
improved than by the amusements of quadrille or Cavagnole.”’ 

Lady Mary need not have feared that Walpole had forgotten 
her ; he bore her much in mind to his dying day, and found 
never a kind thing to say about her. It may be presumed that 
his animosity arose from the fact that Lady Mary had cham- 
pioned Molly Skerritt against his mother, when Miss Skerritt 
was living openly as the mistress of Sir Robert Walpole. Yet, 
though he wrote so abusively about her, he concerned himself 
with a new edition of the Court Poems, though with what 
right has never transpired. “I have lately had Lady Mary 
Wortley’s Ecloques published ; but they don’t please, though so 
excessively good,’’ he wrote to Sir Horace Mann, November 24, 
1747. “‘Isaysoconfidently, for Mr. Chute agrees with me: he 
says, for the Epzstle from Arthur Grey, scarce any woman 
could have written it, and no man; for a man who had had 
experience enough to paint such sentiments so well, would not 
have had warmth enough left. Do you know anything of Lady 
Mary ? Her adventurous son is come in Parliament, but has 
not opened.”’ 

From Florence, Lady Mary repaired to Reme. There, she 
did not see the Chevalier de St. George, but she did see his two 
sons, Charles Edward, the Young Pretender, and Henry, 
Cardinal York. ‘‘ The eldest seems thoughtless enough, and is 
really not unlike Mr. Lyttelton in his shape and air,” she wrote 
to Montagu. ‘‘ The youngest is very well made, dances finely, 


212 Lady Mary Wortley Montagu 


and has an ingenuous countenance ; he is but fourteen years of 
age. The family live very splendidly, yet pay everybody, and 
(wherever they get it) are certainly in no want of money.” 

Lady Mary seems to have had no prepared itinerary, but to 
have wandered as the spirit moved her—Naples, Leghorn, 
Turin, Genoa. The cheapness of Italy appealed to her frugal 
mind. 


“The manners of Italy are so much altered since we were 
here last, the alteration is scarce credible. They say it has 
been by the last war. The French, being masters, introduced 
all their customs, which were eagerly embraced by the ladies, 
and I believe will never be laid aside ; yet the different govern- 
ments make different manners in every state. You know, 
though the republic is not rich, here are many private families 
vastly so, and live at a great superfluous expense: all the 
people of the first quality keep coaches as fine as the Speaker’s, 
and some of them two or three, though the streets are too 
narrow to use them in the town; but they take the air in 
them, and their chairs carry them to the gates. The liveries 
are all plain: gold or silver being forbidden to be worn within 
the walls, the habits are all obliged to be black, but they wear 
exceeding fine lace and linen; and in their country-houses, 
which are generally in the faubuurg, they dress very rich, and 
have extreme fine jewels. Here is nothing cheap but houses. 
A palace fit for a prince may be hired for fifty pounds per annum ; 
I mean unfurnished. All games of chance are strictly pro- 
hibited, and it seems to me the only law they do not try to 
evade: they play at quadrille, piquet, &c., but not high. Here 
are no regular public assemblies. I have been visited by all of 
the first rank, and invited to several fine dinners, particularly 
to the wedding of one of the house of Spinola, where there 
were ninety-six sat down to table, and I think the entertain- 
ment one of the best I ever saw. There was the night follow- 
ing a ball and supper for the same company, with the same 
profusion. They tell me that all their great marriages are kept 





Her Life and Letters 213 


in the same public manner. Nobody keeps more than two 
horses, all their journeys being post; the expense of them, 
including the coachman, is (I am told) fifty pounds per annum. 
A chair is very near as much ; I give eighteen francs a week for 
mine. The senators can converse with no strangers during the 
time of their magistracy, which lasts two years. The number 
of servants is regulated, and almost every lady has the same, 
which is two footmen, a gentleman-usher, and a page, who 
follows her chair. 


Certainly the simple life appealed to Lady Mary, but much 
as she liked Geneva the cost of living irked her. “ Everything 
is as dear as it is at London,” she complained to her husband in 
November, 1741. ‘‘’Tis true, as all equipages are forbidden, 
that expense is entirely retrenched. . . . The way of living is 
absolutely the reverse of that in Italy. Hereisnoshow, anda 
great deal of eating ; there is all the magnificence imaginable, 
and no dinners but on particular occasions ; yet the difference 
of the prices renders the total expense very near equal... . 
The people here are very well to be liked, and this little republic 
has an air of the simplicity of old Rome in its earliest age. The 
magistrates toil with their own hands, and their wives literally 
dress their dinners against their return from their little senate. 
Yet without dress and equipage ‘tis as dear living here for a 
stranger, as in places where one is obliged to both, from the 
price of all sort of provision, which they are forced to buy from 
their neighbours, having almost no land of their own.”’ How 
much more agreeable, from Lady Mary’s point of view, was 
Chambery: “ Here is the most profound peace and unbounded 
plenty that is to be found in any corner of the universe ; but 
not one rag of money. For my part, I think it amounts to the 
same thing, whether one is obliged to give several pence for bread, 
or can have a great deal of bread for a penny, since the Savoyard 
nobility here keep as good tables, without money, as those in 
London, who spend in a week what would be here a considerable 
yearly revenue. Wine, which is equal to the best burgundy, 


214 Lady Mary Wortley Montagu : 





is sold for a penny a quart, and I have a cook for very small 
wages, that is capable of rivalling Chloé.” 

‘““My girl gives me great prospect of satisfaction, but my 
young rogue of a son is the most ungovernable little rake that 
ever played truant,’’ Lady Mary wrote to Lady Mar in July, 
1727, when the boy was fourteen and the girl nine years old. 

It has already been mentioned that young Edward, who was 
placed at Westminster School at the early age of five, ran away. 
In fact, he ran away more than once. “ My blessed offspring 
has already made a great noise in the world,’’ his mother told 
Lady Mar in July, 1726. ‘“‘ That young rake, my son, took to 
his heels t’other day and transported his person to Oxford ; 
being in his own opinion thoroughly qualified for the University. 
After a good deal of search we found and reduced him, much 
against his will, to the humble condition of a schoolboy. It 
happens very luckily that the sobriety and discretion is of my 
daughter’s side ; I am sorry the ugliness is so too, for my son 
grows extremely handsome.”’ The lad was incorrigible. In 
the following year he disappeared for some months, to be found 
selling fish at Blackwall. 


““ My cousin is going to Paris, and I will not let her go without 
a letter for you, my dear sister, though I was never in a worse 
humour for writing ’’ (the anxious mother wrote to her sister). 
‘““T am vexed to the blood by my young rogue of a son; who 
has contrived at his age to make himself the talk of the whole 
nation. He is gone knight-erranting, God knows where; and 
hitherto ’tis impossible to find him. You may judge of my 
uneasiness by what your own would be if dear Lady Fanny was 
lost. Nothing that ever happened to me has troubled me so 
much ; I can hardly speak or write of it with tolerable temper, 
and I own it has changed mine to that degree I have a mind to 
cross the water, to try what effect a new heaven and a new earth 
will have upon my spirit.” 


iLater, Edward ran away again, joining the crew of a ship 


Her Life and Letters 215 


going to Oporto, and was not discovered in that city until a 
considerable period had elapsed since his flight. 

He capped all his follies by marrying at the age of 
twenty a woman of no social standing and much older than 
himself. 

His parents were at their wits’ end. It was hopeless to treat 
him as a rational being. His wife was induced to accept a 
pension to leave him, and he himself was put in charge of a 
keeper. Several times he had to be kept in close confinement. 
He was, however, by no means devoid of brains, and in the 
autumn of 1741 he had sufficiently recovered to be entered as a 
student at the University of Leyden. His allowance was £300 
a year, which he found so insufficient for the indulgence of his 
tastes that he was soon considerably in debt. 

In Lady Mary’s correspondence there are many letters to her 
husband about their son. 


“Genoa, Aug. 15, 1741. 

“TI am sorry to trouble you on so disagreeable a subject as 
our son, but I received a letter from him last post, in which he 
solicits your dissolving his marriage, as if 1t was wholly in your 
power, and the reason he gives for it, is so that he may marry 
more to your satisfaction. It is very vexatious (though no 
more than I expected) that time has no effect, and that it is 
impossible to convince him of his true situation. He enclosed 
this letter in one to Mr. Birtles, and tells me that he does not 
doubt that debt of £200 is paid. You may imagine this silly 
proceeding occasioned me a dun from Mr. Birtles. I told him 
the person that wrote the letter, was, to my knowledge, not 
worth a groat, which was all I thought proper to say on the 
subject.” 


“Lyons, April 23, 1742. 
““T am very glad you have been prevailed on to let our son 
take a commission: if you had prevented it, he would have 
always said, and perhaps thought, and persuaded other people, 





216 Lady Mary Wortley Montagu : 


you had hindered his rising in the world ; though I am fully per- 
suaded that he can never make a tolerable figure in any station 
of life. When he was at Morins, on his first leaving France, 
I then tried to prevail with him to serve the Emperor as 
volunteer ; and represented to him that a handsome behaviour 
one campaign might go a great way in retrieving his character ; 
and offered to use my interest with you (which I said I did not 
doubt would succeed) to furnish him with a handsome equipage. 
He then answered, he supposed I wished him killed out of the 
way. lam afraid his pretended reformation is not very sincere. 
I wish time may prove me in the wrong. I here enclose the 
last letter I received from him; I answered it the following 
post in these words: 

“*T am very glad you resolve to continue obedient to your 
father, and are sensible of his goodness towards you. Mr. 
Birtles showed me your letter to him, in which you enclosed 
yours to me, where you speak to him as your friend ; sub- 
scribing yourself his faithful humbleservant. He was at Genoa 
in his uncle’s house when you was there, and well acquainted 
with you ; though you seem ignorant of everything relating to 
him. I wish you would make such sort of apologies for any 
errors you may commit. I pray God your future behaviour 
may redeem the past, which will be a great blessing to your 
affectionate mother.’ 

“T have not since heard from him ; I suppose he knew not 
what to say to so plain a detected falsehood. It is very dis- 
agreeable to me to converse with one from whom I do not 
expect to hear a word of truth, and who, I am very sure, will 
repeat many things that never passed in our conversation. 
You see the most solemn assurances are not binding from him, 
since he could come to London in opposition to your com- 
mands, after having so frequently protested he would not move 
a step except by your order. However, as you insist on my 
seeing him, I will do it, and think Valence the properest town 


for that interview ; it is but two days’ journey from this place ; 
itisin Dauphiné. .. | 





Her Life and Letters why 


“ T shall stay here till I have an answer to this letter. Ifyou 
order your son to go to Valence, I desire you would give him 
a strict command of going by a feigned name. I do not doubt 
your returning me whatever money I may give him; but as | 
believe, if he receives money from me, he will be making me 
frequent visits, it is clearly my opinion I should give him 
none. Whatever you may think proper for his journey, you 
may remit to him.” 


“ Lyons, April 25 [1742]. 

“ On recollection (however inconvenient it may be to me on 
many accounts), I am not sorry to converse with my son. I 
shall at least have the satisfaction of making a clear judgment 
of his behaviour and temper: which I shall deliver to you in 
the most sincere and unprejudiced manner. You need not 
apprehend that I shall speak to him in passion. I do not 
know that I ever did in my life. I am not apt to be over- 
heated in discourse, and am so far prepared, even for the worst 
on his side, that I think nothing he can say can alter the resolu- 
tion I have taken of treating him with calmness. Both nature 
and interest (were I inclined to follow blindly the dictates of 
either) would determine me to wish him your heir rather than a 
stranger ; but I think myself obliged both by honour, conscience 
and my regard for you, no way to deceive you ; and I confess, 
hitherto I see nothing but falsehood and weakness through his 
whole conduct. It is possible this person may be altered since 
I saw him, but his figure then was very agreeable and his manner 
insinuating. I very well remember the professions he made to 
me, and do not doubt he is as lavish of them to other people. 
Perhaps Lord Carteret may think him no ill match for an ugly 
girl that sticks upon his hands. The project of breaking his 
marriage shows at least his devotion counterfeit, since I am 
sensible it cannot be done but by false witness. His wife is not 
young enough to get gallants, nor rich enough to buy them. 

“| make choice of Valence for our interview as a town where 
we are not likely to find any English, and he may if he pleases 


218 Lady Mary Wortley Montagu : 











be quite unknown ; which it is hardly possible to be in any 
capital town either of France or Italy. 


“Lyons, May 2 [1742]. 

“ T received this morning yours of April 12, and at the same 
time the enclosed which I send you. ‘Tis the first I have 
received since the detection of that falsehood in regard to Mr. 
Birtles. I always send my letters open, that Mr. Clifford (who 
has the character of sense and honesty) might be witness of 
what I said ; and he not left at liberty to forge orders he never 
received. Iam very glad I have done so, and am persuaded 
that had his reformation been what you suppose it, Mr. Clifford 
would have wrote to me in his favour. I confess I see no 
appearance of it. His last letter to you, and this to me, seems 
to be no more in that submissive style he has used, but like 
one that thinks himself well protected. I will see him, since 
you desire it, at Valence ; which is a by-town, where I am less 
likely to meet with English than any town in France; but I 
insist on his going by a feigned name, and coming without a 
servant. People of superior fortunes to him (to my knowledge) 
have often travelled from Paris to Lyons in the diligence ; the 
expense is but one hundred livres, £5 sterling, all things paid. 
It would not be easy to me, at this time, to send him any con- 
siderable sum; and whatever it is, I am persuaded, coming 
from me, he would not be satisfied with it, and make his com- 
plaints to his companions. As to the alteration of his temper, 
I see the same folly throughout. He now supposes (which is 
at best downright childish) that one hour’s conversation will 
convince me of his sincerity. I have not answered his letter, 
nor will not, till I have your orders what to say to him.” 


[Avignon] May 6 [1742]. 
‘“T here send you enclosed the letter I mentioned of your 
son’s; the packet in which it was put was mislaid in the 
journey ; it will serve to show you how little he is to be de- 
pended on. I saw a Savoyard man of quality at Chambery, 





Her Life and Letters 219 





who knew him at Venice, and afterwards at Genoa, who asked 
me (not suspecting him for my son) if he was related to my 
family. I made answer he was some relation. He told me 
several tricks of his. He said, that at Genoa he had told him 
that an uncle of his was dead and had left him £5,000 or 
£6,000 per annum, and that he was returning to England to 
take possession of his estate ; in the meantime he wanted money ; 
and would have borrowed some of him, which he refused. I 
made answer that he did very well. I have heard of this sort 
of conduct in other places ; and by the Dutch letters you have 
sent me I am persuaded he continues the same method of lying 
which convinces me that his pretended enthusiasm is only to 
cheat those that can be imposed on by it. However, I think he 
should not be hindered accepting a commission. I do not 
doubt it will be pawned or sold in a twelvemonth ; which will 
prove to those that now protect him how little he deserves it. 
I am now at Avignon, which is within one day’s journey of 
Valence.” 


“ Avignon, May 23 [1742]. 

“T received this morning yours of April 12 and 2gth, and 
at the same time one from my son at Paris, dated the 4th 
instant. Ihave wrote to him this day, that on his answer I will 
immediately set out to Valence, andshall be glad to see him there. 
I suppose you are now convinced I have never been mistaken 
in his character ; which remains unchanged, and what is yet 
worse, I think is unchangeable. I never saw such a complica- 
tion of folly and falsity as in his letter to Mr. Gibson. Nothing 
is cheaper than living in an inn in a country town in France ; 
they being obliged to ask no more than twenty-five sous for 
dinner, and thirty for supper and lodging, of those that eat 
at the public table ; which all the young men of quality I have 
met have always done. It is true I am forced to pay double, 
because I think the decency of my sex confines me to eat in my 
chamber. I will not trouble you with detecting a number of 
other falsehoods that are in his letters. My opinion on the 








220 Lady Mary Wortley Montagu : 


whole (since you give me leave to tell it) is, that if I was to speak 
in your place, I would tell him, ‘ That since he is obstinate in 
going into the army, I will not oppose it; but as I do not 
approve, I will advance no equipage till I know his behaviour 
to be such as shall deserve my future favour. Hitherto he has 
always been directed, either by his own humour, or the advice 
of those he thought better friends to him than myself. If he 
renounces the army, I will continue to him his former allow- 
ance; notwithstanding his repeated disobedience, under the 
most solemn professions of duty. When I see him act like a 
sincere honest man, I shall believe well of him ; the opinion of 
others, who either do not know him or are imposed on by his 
pretences, weighs nothing with me.’ ” 


On May 30 Lady Mary went from Avignon to Valence, where 
about a week later her son visited her. She at once sent a full 
account to Montagu. 


“ Avignon, June 10 [1742.] 

“Tam just returned from passing two days with our son, of 
whom I will give you the most exact account I am capable of. 
He is so much altered in his person, I should scarcely have 
known him. He has entirely lost his beauty, and looks at 
least seven years older than he is; and the wildness that he 
always had in his eyes is so much increased it is downright 
shocking, and I am afraid will end fatally. He is grown fat, 
but is still genteel, and has an air of politeness that is agreeable. 
He speaks French like a Frenchman, and has got all the 
fashionable expressions of that language, and a volubility of 
words which he always had, and which I do not wonder should 
pass for wit with inconsiderate people. His behaviour is per- 
fectly civil, and I found him very submissive ; but in the main, 
no way really improved in his understanding, which is exceed- 
ingly weak ; and I am convinced he will always be led by the 
person he converses with either right or wrong, not being 
capable of forming any fixed judgment of his own. As to his 





Her Life and Letters 221 


enthusiasm, if he had it, I suppose he has already lost it ; since 
I could perceive no turn of it in all his conversation. But 
with his head I believe it is possible to make him a monk one 
day and a Turk three days after. He has a flattering, in- 
sinuating manner, which naturally prejudices strangers in his 
favour. He began to talk to me in the usual silly cant I have 
so often heard from him, which I shortened by telling him I 
desired not to be troubled with it ; that professions were of no 
use where actions were expected; and that the only thing 
_ could give me hopes of a good conduct was regularity and 
truth. He very readily agreed to all I said (as indeed he has 
always done when he has not been hot-headed). I endeavoured 
to convince him how favourably he has been dealt with, his 
allowance being much more than, had I been his father, I 
would have given in the same case. The Prince of Hesse, 
who is now married to the Princess of England, lived some 
years at Geneva on £300 per annum. Lord Hervey sent his 
son at sixteen thither, and to travel afterwards, on no larger 
pension than {200 ; and, though without a governor, he had 
reason enough, not only to live within the compass of it, but 
carried home little presents for his father and mother, which 
he showed me at Turin. In short, I know there is no place 
so expensive, but a prudent single man may live in it on £100 
per annum, and an extravagant one may run out ten thousand 
in the cheapest. Had you (said I to him) thought rightly, or 
would have regarded the advice I gave you in all my letters, 
while in the little town of Islestein, you would have laid up 
£150 per annum; you would now have had £750 in your 
pocket ; which would have almost paid your debts, and such a 
management would have gained you the esteem of the reason- 
able part of mankind. I perceived this reflection, which he 
had never made himself, had a very great weight with him. 
He would have excused part of his follies, by saying Mr. G. 
had told him it became Mr. W.’s son to live handsomely. 
I made answer, that whether Mr. G. had said so or no, the 
good sense of the thing was noway altered by it ; that the true 


222 Lady Mary Wortley Montagu : 





figure of a man was the opinion the world had of his sense and 
probity, and not the idle expenses, which were only respected 
by foolish or ignorant people ; that his case was particular, he 
had but too publicly shown his inclination to vanities, and the 
most becoming part he could now act would be owning the ill 
use he had made of his father’s indulgence, and professing 
to endeavour to be no further expense to him, instead of 
scandalous complaints, and being always at his last shirt and 
last guinea, which any man of spirit would be ashamed to own. 
I prevailed so far with him that he seemed very willing to 
follow this advice ; and I gave him a paragraph to write to G., 
which I suppose you will easily distinguish from the rest of his 
letter. He asked me if you had settled your estate. I made 
answer, that I did not doubt (like all other wise men) you 
always hada will by you; but that you had certainly not put 
anything out of your power to change. On that, he began to 
insinuate, that if I could prevail on you to settle the estate on 
him, I might expect anything from his gratitude. I made him 
a very clear and positive answer in these words : ‘I hope your 
father will outlive me, and if I should be so unfortunate to 
have it otherwise, I do not believe he will leave me in your 
power. But was I sure of the contrary, no interest nor no 
necessity shall ever make me act against my honour or con- 
science ; and I plainly tell you, that I will never persuade your 
father to do anything for you till I think you deserve it.” He 
answered by great promises of future good behaviour, and 
economy. He is highly delighted with the prospect of going 
into the army ; and mightily pleased with the good reception 
he had from Lord Stair, though I find it amounts to no more 
than telling him he was sorry he had already named his aides- 
de-camp, and otherwise should have been glad of him in that 
post. Hesays Lord Carteret has confirmed to him his promise 
of a commission. | 
“The rest of his conversation was extremely gay. The 
various things he has seen has given him a superficial universal 
knowledge. He really knows most of the modern languages, 


Her Life and Letters 223 


and if I could believe him, can read Arabic, and has read the 
Biblein Hebrew. Hesaid it was impossible for him to avoid going 
back to Paris ; but he promised me to lie but one night there, 
and go to a town six posts from thence on the Flanders road, 
where he would wait your orders, and go by the name of 
Mons. du Durand, a Dutch officer ; under which name I saw 
him. These are the most material passages, and my eyes are 
so much tired I can write no more at this time. I gave him 
240 livres for his journey.”’ 


No amount of admonition had any effect upon Edward. 
At theage of thirty he was as irresponsible as he was when he was 
thirteen years old. He promised his mother at Avignon most 
solemnly to reform, and at once got into mischief. ‘‘I am 
persuaded,’’ Lady Mary said, “‘ whoever protects him will be 
very soon convinced of the impossibility of his behaving like a 
rational creature.” 


‘“* Avigon, November 20, 1743. 


“As to my son’s behaviour at Montelimart, it is nothing 
more than a proof of his weakness ; and how little he is to be 
depended on in his most solemn professions. He told me that 
he had made acqaintance with a lady on the road, who has an 
assembly at her house at Montelimart, and that she had invited 
him thither. I asked immediately if she knew his name. He 
assured me no, and that he passed for a Dutch officer by the 
name of Durand. I advised him not go thither, since it would 
raise a curiosity concerning him, and I was very unwilling 
it should be known that I had conversed with him, on many 
accounts. He gave me the most solemn assurances that no 
mortal should know it ; and agreed with me in the reasons I 
gave him for keeping it an entire secret ; yet rid straight to 
Montelimart, where he told at the assembly that he came into 
this country purely on my orders, and that I had stayed with 
him two days at Orange; talking much of my kindness to 
him, and insinuating that he had another name, much more 


224 Lady Mary Wortley Montagu : 


considerable than that he appeared with. I knew nothing 
of this, till several months after, that a lady of that country 
came hither, and meeting her in company, she asked me if I 
was acquainted with Monsieur Durand. I had really forgot he 
had ever taken that name, and made answer no; and that if 
such a person mentioned me, it was probably some chevalier 
@indusirie who sought to introduce himself into company by 
a supposed acquaintance with me. She made answer, the 
whole town believed so, by the improbable tales he told them ; 
and informed me what he had said; by which I knew what I 
have related to you. 
“T expect your orders in relation to his letters.” 


Edward was still anxious to join the army, and his parents 
were not averse to the scheme. Lady Mary, however,thought 
that certain precautions should be taken in the event of his 
securing a commission. “It is my opinion,’ she wrote to 
Montagu in January, 1744, “ he should have no distinction, in 
equipage, from any other cornet ; everything of that sort will 
only serve to blow his vanity and consequently heighten his 
folly. Your indulgence has always been greater to him than 
any other parent’s would have been in the same circumstances. 
I have always said so, and thought so. If anything can alter 
him, it will be thinking firmly that he has no dependence but on 
his own conduct for a future maintenance.”’ 

Edward obtained a commission, and was present at 
Fontenoy. 

On his return to England, in 1747, he was elected to Parlia- 
ment for the family borough of Huntingdon. This he held 
until 1754, when he was returned for the borough of Bossiney, 
in Cornwall, which he represented for the next eight years. 

Of his subsequent career it is not necessary to say any- 
thing here, except that his father left him an annuity of £1,000 
a year, to be increased to £2,000 on his mother’s death. Lady 
Mary in her will bequeathed him one guinea. 





Her Life and Letters 225 


CHAPTER XIV 
LADY MARY AS A READER 


Her fondness for reading—Her difficulty to get enough books while 
abroad—Lady Bute keeps her supplied—Lady Mary’s catholic 
taste in literature—Samuel Richardson—The vogue of Clarissa 
Harlowe—Lady Mary tells a story of the Richardson type— 
Henry Fielding—Joseph Andrews—Tom Jones—Her high 
opinion of Fielding and Steele—Tobias Smollett—Peregrine 
Pickle—Lady Vane’s Memoirs of a Lady of Quality—Sarah 
Fielding—Minor writers—Lord Orrery’s Remarks on Swift 
—Bolingbroke’s works—Addison and Pope—Dr. Johnson. 


In her quiet retreat, Lady Mary found plenty of time for books. 
“TI yet retain and carefully cherish my taste for reading,” 
she wrote to her daughter in 1752. “‘ If relays of eyes were to be 
hired like post-horses, I would never admit any but select com- 
panions: they afford a constant variety of entertainment, and 
is almost the only one pleasing in the enjoyment and inoffensive 
in the consequence.” 

Her trouble was that she could not get books enough to 
occupy her time. She was always asking Lady Bute to send 
her some, and was duly grateful when they reached her. “I 
fancy you are now Saying, ‘tis a sad thing to grow old; what 
does my poor mamma mean by troubling me with criticisms on 
books that nobody but herself willever read ? You must allow 
something to my solitude.”” And again: “I thank God my 
taste still continues for the gay part of reading. Wiser people 
may call it trifling, but it serves to sweeten life to me, and is 


worst better than the generality of conversation.”’ 
E 








226 Lady Mary Wortley Montagu : 


_——. 





Lady Mary’s taste in books was catholic. She has seen the ~ 
‘““ Memoirs of her old friend, the Duchess of Marlborough,” but 
would be glad of the Apology for a late Resignation and of 
Colin Campbell’s books on Architecture. She has read Mrs. 
Lennox’s The Female Quixote, and much of Sarah Fielding ; 
and she desires Henry Fielding’s posthumous works, with his 
Memotrs of Jonathan Wild and The Journey to the Next World ; 
also the Memoirs of Verocand, a man of pleasure, and those of a 
Young Lady. ‘ You will call all this trash, trumpery, etc.,” 
she said toher daughter. “I can assure you I was more enter- 
tained by G. Edwards than H. St. John, of whom you have sent 
me duplicates. I see new story books with the same pleasure 
your eldest daughter does a new dress, or the youngest a 
new baby. I thank God, I can find playthings for my age. I 
am not of Cowley’s mind, that this world is 


“A dull, ill-acted comedy ; ’ 
nor of Mr. Philips’s, that it is 
‘A too well-acted tragedy.’ 


“T look upon it as a very pretty farce, for those that can see 
it in that light. I confess a severe critic, that would examine 
by ancient rules, might find many defects, but ’tis ridiculous to 
judge seriously of a puppet-show. Those that can laugh, and 
be diverted with absurdities, are the wisest spectators, be it of 
writings, actions, or people.”’ 

Presently Lady Mary is asking for books the names of which 
she has seen in the newspapers: “‘ Fortunate Mistress, Accom- 
plished Rake, Mrs. Charke’s Memoirs, Modern Lovers, History 
of Two Orphans, Memoirs of David Ranger, Miss Mostyn, Dick 
Hazard, History of a Lady Platonist, Sophia Shakespear, Jasper 
Banks, Frank Hammond, Sir Andrew Thompson, Van a Clergy- 
man’s Son, Cheantles and Celemena. 1 do not doubt at least 
the greater part of these are trash, lumber, etc. ; however, they 








Her Life and Letters 227 


willserve to pass away the idle time, if you will be so kind as to 
send them to your most affectionate mother.” 

Richardson Lady Mary liked in spite of herself, as so many 
others then and since have done, though it is true that she spoke 
of the “‘ very extraordinary (and I think undeserved) success of 
Pamela, which, she said, was all the fashion at Paris and 
Versailles, and is still the joy of the chambermaids of all 
nations.’ ”’ 


“T was such an old fool as to weep over Clarissa Harlowe, 
like any milkmaid of sixteen over the ballad of the Lady's 
Fall (she wrote to her daughter). ‘‘ To say truth, the first 
volume softened me by a near resemblance of my maiden days ; 
but on the whole ’tis most miserable stuff. Miss How, who is 
called a young lady of sense and honour, is not only extreme 
silly, but a more vicious character than Sally Martin, whose 
crimes are owing at first to seduction, and afterwards to neces- 
sity ; while this virtuous damsel, without any reason, insults 
her mother at home and ridicules her abroad ; abuses the man 
she marries; and is impertinent and impudent with great 
applause. Even that model of affection, Clarissa, is so faulty in 
her behaviour as to deserve little compassion. Any girl that 
runs away with a young fellow, without intending to marry him, 
should be carried to Bridewell or to Bedlam the next day. Yet 
the circumstances are so laid as to inspire tenderness, not- 
withstanding the low style and absurd incidents ; and I look 
upon this and Pamela to be two books that will do more general 
mischief than the works of Lord Rochester. There is some- 
thing humorous in R. Random, that makes me believe that the 
author is H. Fielding. JI am horribly afraid I guess too well 
the writer of those abominable insipidities of Cornelia, Leonora, 
and the Ladies’ Drawing Room.” 


“ This Richardson is a strange fellow,” she said in another 
letter. ‘‘I heartily despise him, and eagerly read him, nay, 
sob over his works in a most scandalous manner.” 


228 Lady Mary Wortley Montagu : 


‘““T have now read over Richardson—he sinks horribly in 
his third volume (he does so in his story of Clavissa). When he 
talks of Italy, it is plain he is no better acquainted with it than 
he is with the kingdom of Mancomugi. He might have made his 
Sir Charles’s amour with Clementina begin in a convent, where 
the pensioners sometimes take great liberties, but that such 
familiarity should be permitted in her father’s house, is as 
repugnant to custom, as it would be in London fora young lady 
of quality to dance on the ropes at Bartholomew fair: neither 
does his hero behave to her in a manner suitable to his nice 
notions. It was impossible a discerning man should not see her 
passion early enough to check it, if he had really designed it. 
His conduct puts me in mind of some ladies I have known, who 
could never find out a man to be in love with them, let him do 
or say what he would, till he made a direct attempt, and then 
they were so surprised, I warrant you! Nor do I approve Sir 
Charles’s offered compromise (as he calls it). There must be a 
great indifference as to religion on both sides, to make so strict 
a union as marriage tolerable between people of such distinct 
persuasions. He seems to think women have no souls, by 
agreeing so easily that his daughters should be educated in 
bigotry and idolatry.—You will perhaps think this last a hard 
word ; yet it is not difficult to prove, that either the papists are 
guilty of idolatry, or the pagans never were so. You may see in 
Lucian (in his vindication of his images), that they did not take 
their statues to be real gods, but only the representations of 
them. The same doctrine may be found in Plutarch ; and it is 
all the modern priests have to say in excuse for their worshipping 
wood and stone, though they cannot deny, at the same time, 
that the vulgar are apt to confound that distinction.” 


Lady Mary frequently re-read Richardson, and not seldom 
referred to them in her correspondence. 


“Tt is certain there are as many marriages as ever. Richard- 
son is so eager for the multiplication of them, I suppose he is 


Her Life and Letters 229 


some parish curate, whose chief profit depends on weddings 
and christenings. He is not a man-midwife; for he would be 
better skilled in physic than to think fits and madness any 
ornament to the characters of his heroines: though his Sir 
Charles had no thoughts of marrying Clementina till she had lost 
her wits, and the divine Clarissa never acted prudently till she 
was in the same condition, and then very wisely desired to be 
carried to Bedlam, which is really all that is to be done in that 
case. Madness is as much corporal distemper as the gout or 
asthma, never occasioned by affliction, or to be cured by the 
enjoyment of their extravagant wishes. Passion may indeed 
bring on a fit, but the disease is lodged in the blood, and it 
is not more ridiculous to attempt to relieve the gout by an 
embroidered slipper, than to restore reason by the gratification 
of wild desires. 

“ Richardson is as ignorant in morality as he is in anatomy, 
when he declares abusing an obliging husband, or an indulgent 
parent, to be an innocent recreation. His Anna How and 
Charlotte Grandison are recommended as patterns of charming 
pleasantry, and applauded by his saint-like dames, who mistake 
pert folly for wit and humour, and impudence and ill nature for 
spirit and fire. Charlotte behaves like a humorsome child, 
and should have been used like one, and*** well whipped in 
the presence of her friendly confidante Harriet. Lord Halifax 
very justly tells his daughter, that a husband’s kindness is to 
be kindly received by a wife, even when he is drunk, and 
though it is wrapped up in never so much impertinence. 
Charlotte acts with an ingratitude that I think too black for 
human nature, with such coarse jokes and low expressions as 
are only to be heard among the lowest class of people. Women 
of that rank often plead a right to beat their husbands, when 
they don’t cuckold them ; and I believe this author was never 
admitted into higher company, and should confine his pen to 
the amours of housemaids, and the conversation at the steward’s 
table,where I imagine he has sometimes intruded, though oftener 
_ inthe servants’ hall: yet, if the title be not a puff, this work has 


- 


230 Lady Mary Wortley Montagu : 


passed three editions. I do not forgive him his disrespect of 
old china, which is below nobody’s taste, since it has been the D. 
of Argyll’s, whose understanding has never been doubted either 
by his friends or enemies. 

“ Richardson never had probably money enough to purchase 
any, or even a ticket for a masquerade, which gives him 
such an aversion to them ; though his intended satire against 
them is very absurd on the account of his Harriet, since she 
might have been carried off in the same manner if she had 
been going from supper with her grandmamma. Her whole 
behaviour, which he designs to be exemplary, is equally 
blamable and ridiculous. She follows the maxim of Clarissa, 
of declaring all she thinks to all the people she sees, without 
reflecting that in this mortal state of imperfection, fig-leaves 


are as necessary for our minds as our bodies, and ‘tis as in- 


decent to show all we think, as all we have. He has no idea 
of the manners of high life: his old Lord M. talks in the style 
of a country justice, and his virtuous young Jadies romp like 
the wenches round a maypole. Such liberties as pass between 
Mr. Lovelace and his cousins, are not to be excused by the 
relation. I should have been much astonished if Lord Den- 
bigh should have offered to kiss me; and I dare swear Lord 
Trentham never attempted such an impertinence to you.” 


Lady Mary was in sore trouble about Richardson. She 
would not like him, she was angry with him, yet could never 
away with him. When she heard of an adventure at Lovere, 
she, who herself had a gift for novel-writing, must needs send 
an account of it to Lady Bute, saying that it exactly resembled 
and, she believed, was copied from Pamela. ‘‘ I know not under 
what constellation that foolish stuff was wrote, but it has 
been translated into more languages than any modern per- 
formance I ever heard of,’’ she added. ‘ No proof of its in- 
fluence was ever stronger than this story, which in Richardson’s 
hands would serve very well to furnish out seven or eight 
volumes: I shall make it as short as I can.”’ 








Her Life and Letters 231 


et, 





As an example of Lady Mary’s skill in narrative, her account 
of the Richardsonian adventure is well worth reprinting. 


“ Here is a gentleman’s family, consisting of an old bachelor 
and his sister, who have fortune enough to live with great 
elegance, though without any magnificence, possessed of the 
esteem of all their acquaintance, he being distinguished by his 
probity, and she by her virtue. They are not only suffered 
but sought by all the best company, and indeed are the most 
conversable, reasonable people in the place. She is an ex- 
cellent housewife, and particularly remarkable for keeping 
her pretty house as neat as any in Holland. She appears no 
longer in public, being past fifty, and passes her time chiefly at 
home with her work, receiving few visitants. This Signora 
Diana, about ten years since, saw, at a monastery, a girl about 
eight years old, who came thither to beg alms for her mother. 
Her beauty, though covered with rags, was very observable, 
and gave great compassion to the charitable lady, who thought 
it meritorious to rescue such a modest sweetness as appeared 
in her face from the ruin to which her wretched circum- 
stances exposed her. She asked her some questions, to which 
she answered with a natural civility that seemed surprising ; 
and finding the head of her family (her brother) to be a cobbler, 
who could hardly live by that trade, and her mother too old 
to work for her maintenance, she bid the child follow her 
home ; and sending for her parent, proposed to her to breed the 
little Octavia for her servant. This was joyfully accepted, 
the old woman dismissed with a piece of money, and the girl 
remained with theSignora Diana, who bought her decent clothes, 
and took pleasure in teaching her whatever she was capable of 
learning. She learned to read, write, and cast accounts, with 
uncommon facility ; and had such a genius for work, that she 
excelled her mistress in embroidery, point, and every operation 
of the needle. She grew perfectly skilled in confectionary, 
had a good insight into cookery, and was a great proficient in 
distillery. To these accomplishments she was so handy, well 





232 Lady Mary Wortley Montagu : 


bred, humble and modest, that not only her master and mistress, 
but everybody that frequented the house, took notice Of Nes; 
She lived thus near nine years, never going out but to church. 
However, beauty is as difficult to conceal as light; hers 
began to make a great noise. Signora Diana told me she 
observed an unusual concourse of pedling women that came 
on pretext to sell penn’orths of lace, china, etc., and several 
young gentlemen, very well powdered, that were perpetually 
walking before her door, and looking up at the windows. 
These prognostics alarmed her prudence, and she listened very 
willingly to some honourable proposals that were made by 
many honest, thriving tradesmen. She communicated them 
to Octavia, and told her, that though she was sorry to lose so 
good aservant, yet she thought it right to advise her to choose 
ahusband. The girl answered modestly, that it was her duty 
to obey all her commands, but she found no inclination to 
marriage ; and if she would permit her to live single, she should 
think it a greater obligation than any other she could bestow. 
Signora Diana was too conscientious to force her into a state 
from which she could not free her, and left her to her own dis- 
posal. However, they parted soon after: whether (as the 
neighbours say) Signor Aurelio Ardinghi, her brother, looked 
with too much attentionon the young woman, orthat she herself 
(as Diana says) desired to seek a place of more profit, she re- 
moved to Bergamo, where she soon found preferment, being 
strongly recommended by the Ardinghi family. She was ad- 
vanced to be first waiting-woman to an old countess, who was so 
well pleased with her service, she desired, on her death-bed, 
Count Jeronimo Sosi, her son, to be kind to her. He found no 
repugnance to this act of obedience, having distinguished the 
beautiful Octavia from his first sight of her ; and, during the six 
months that she had served in the house, had tried every art of 
a fine gentleman, accustomed to victories of that sort, to van- 
quish the virtue of this fair virgin. He has a handsome figure, 
and has had an education uncommon in this country, having 
made the tour of Europe, and brought from Paris all the 





Her Life and Letters 233 


improvements that are to be picked up there, being celebrated 
for his grace in dancing, and skill in fencing and riding, by which 
he is a favourite among the ladies, and respected by the men. 
Thus qualified for conquest, you may judge of his surprise at the 
firm yet modest resistance of this country girl, who was neither 
to be moved by address, nor gained by liberality, nor on any 
terms would be prevailed on to stay as his housekeeper, after 
the death of his mother. She took that post in the house of an 
old judge, where she continued to be solicited by the emissaries 
of the count’s passion, and found a new persecutor in her master, 
who, after three months’ endeavour to corrupt her, offered her 
marriage. She chose to return to her former obscurity, and 
escaped from his pursuit, without asking any wages, and 
privately returned to the Signora Diana. She threw herself 
at her feet, and, kissing her hands, begged her, with tears, to 
conceal her at least some time, if she would not accept of her 
service. She protested she had never been happy since she left it. 
While she was making these submissions, Signor Aurelio entered. 
She entreated his intercession on her knees, who was easily 
persuaded to consent she should stay with them, though his 
sister blamed her highly for her precipitate flight, having no 
reason, from the age and character of her master, to fear any 
violence, and wondered at her declining the honour he offered 
her. Octavia confessed that perhaps she had been too rash in 
her proceedings, but said, that he seemed to resent her refusal 
in such a manner as frighted her; she hoped that after a few 
days’ search he would think no more of her; and that she 
scrupled entering into the holy bands of matrimony, where her 
heart did not sincerely accompany all the words of the cere- 
mony. Signora Diana had nothing to say in contradiction to 
this pious sentiment ; and her brother applauded the honesty 
which could not be perverted by any interest whatever. She 
remained concealed in their house, where she helped in the 
kitchen, cleaned the rooms, and redoubled her usual diligence 
and officiousness. Her old master came to Lovere on pretence 
of adjusting a lawsuit, three days after, and made private 





234 Lady Mary Wortley Montagu : 


inquiry after her; but hearing from her mother and brother 
(who knew nothing of her being here) that they had never heard 
of her, he concluded she had taken another route, and returned 
to Bergamo ; and she continued in this retirement near a fort- 
night. 

“Last Sunday, as soon as the day was closed, arrived at 
Signor Aurelio’s door a handsome equipage in a large bark, 
attended by four well-armed servants on horseback. An old 
priest stepped out of it, and desiring to speak with Signora 
Diana, informed her he came from the Count .Jeronimo Sosi 
to demand Octavia ; that the count waited for her at a village 
four miles from hence, where he intended to marry her; and 
had sent him, who was engaged to perform the divine rite, that 
Signora Diana might resign her to his care without any difficulty. 
The young damsel was called for, who entreated she might be 
permitted the company of another priest with whom she was 
acquainted: this was readily granted; and she sent for a 
young man that visits me very often, being remarkable for his 
sobriety and learning. Meanwhile, a valet-de-chambre pre- 
sented her with a box, in which was a complete genteel undress 
for a lady. Her laced linen and fine nightgown were soon put 
on, and away they marched, leaving the family in a surprise 
not to be described. 

“ Signor Aurelio came to drink coffee with me next morning : 
his first words were, he had brought me the history of Pamela. 
I said, laughing, I had been tired with it long since. He 
explained himself by relating this story, mixed with great 
resentment for Octavia’s conduct. Count Jeronimo’s father 
had been his ancient friend and patron; and this escape from 
his house (he said) would lay him under a suspicion of having 
abetted the young man’s folly, and perhaps expose him to the 
anger of all his relations, for contriving an action he would 
rather have died than suffered, if he had known how to pre- 
ventit. Teasily believed him, there appearing a latent jealousy 
under his affliction, that showed me he envied the bridegroom’s 
happiness, at the same time he condemned his extravagance. 








Her Life and Letters 235 


‘“ Yesterday noon, being Saturday, Don Joseph returned, 
who has got the name of Parson Williams by this expedition : he 
relates, that when the bark which carried the coach and train 
arrived, they found the amorous count waiting for his bride on 
the bank of the lake: he would have proceeded immediately 
to the church ; but she utterly refused it; till they had each of 
them been at confession ; after which the happy knot was tied 
by the parish priest. They continued their journey, and came 
to their palace at Bergamo in a few hours, where everything 
was prepared for their reception. They received the com- 
munion next morning, and the count declares that the lovely 
Octavia has brought him an inestimable portion, since he owes 
to her the salvation of his soul. He has renounced play, at 
which he had lost a great deal of time and money. She has 
already retrenched several superfluous servants, and put his 
family into an exact method of economy, preserving all the 
splendour necessary to his rank. He has sent a letter in his 
own hand to her mother, inviting her to reside with them, and 
subscribing himself her dutiful son : but the countess has sent 
another privately by Don Joseph, in which she advises the old 
woman to stay at Lovere, promising to take care she shall 
want nothing, accompanied with a token of twenty sequins, 
which is at least nineteen more than ever she saw in her life. 

“ | forgot to tell you that from Octavia’s first serving the old 
lady, there came frequent charities in her name to her poor 
parent, which nobody was surprised at, the lady being cele- 
brated for pious works, and Octavia known to be a great 
favourite with her. It is now discovered that they were all 
sent by the generous lover, who has presented Don Joseph 
very handsomely, but he has brought neither letter nor message 
to the house of Ardinghi, which affords much speculation.”’ 


Lady Mary followed this narrative with her reflections. She 
was sure that all these adventures proceeded from artifice on 
one side and weakness on the other. ‘‘ An honest, tender mind,”’ 
she says, “is betrayed to ruin by the charms that make the 





236 Lady Mary Wortley Montagu : 


fortune of a designing head, which, when joined with a beautiful 
face, can never fail of advancement, except barred by a wise 
mother, who locks up her daughters from view till nobody cares 
tolook onthem.’’ She instanced the case of “‘ my poor friend ” 
the Duchess of Bolton, who “ was educated in solitude, with 
some choice books, by a saint-like governess: crammed with 
virtue and good qualities, she thought it impossible not to find 
gratitude, though she failed to give passion; and upon this 
plan threw away her estate, was despised by her husband, 
and laughed at by the public.’”” Lady Mary compared the 
case of the Duchess with that of ‘‘ Polly, bred in an ale-house, 
and produced on the stage, who has obtained wealth and title, 
and found the way to be esteemed.” This particular instance 
hardly furnishes the basis for the general rule laid down by 
her: “So useful is early experience—without it half of life is 
dissipated in correcting the errors that we have been taught to 
receive as indisputable truths.’”’ According to all accounts 
Charles Paulet, third Duke of Bolton, was at the age of twenty- 
eight forced by his father to marry Lady Anne Vaughan, only 
daughter and heiress of John, Earl of Carbery. When the old 
Duke died in 1722 they separated. Some years later the Duke 
took for his mistress Lavinia Fenton, the “ Polly ” in Gay’s 
“ Beggar’s Opera.”’ On the death of his wife in 1751 he married 
her. 


Henry Fielding, was Lady Mary’s second cousin ; but there 
had never been any intimacy between them, athough some 
acquaintance. The novelist was eighteen years the younger. 
In 1727, when he was twenty and near the beginning of his 
career as a playwright, he had consulted her about his comedy, 
“ Love in Several Masques,”’ of which, when it was published in 
the following year, he sent her a copy. ‘‘I have presumed to 
send your Ladyship a copy of the play which you did me the 
honour of reading three acts last spring and hope it may meet as 
light a censure from your Ladyship’s judgment as then; for 
while your goodness permits me (what I esteem the greatest and 


Her Life and Letters 237 


indeed only happening of my life) to offer my unworthy per- 
formances to your perusal, it will be entirely from your sentence 
that they will be regarded or disesteemed by me.” Fielding 
wrote Lady Mary another letter about four years later : “‘ I hope 
your Ladyship will honour the scenes which I presume to lay 
before you, with your perusal. As they are written on a model 
I never yet attempted, I am exceedingly anxious less they should 
find less mercy from you than my lighter productions. It will 
be a slight compensation to ‘ The Modern Husband ’ that your 
Ladyship’s censure will defend him from the possibility of any 
other reproof, since your least approbation will always give me 
pleasure, infinitely superior to the loudest applauses of a theatre. 
For whatever has passed your judgment may, I think, without 
any imputation of immodesty, refer want of success to want of 
judgment in an audience. I shall do myself the honour of 
waiting upon your Ladyship at Twickenham to receive my 
sentence.”’ 

One evening when she arrived home, after having ridden 
twenty miles in the moonlight, she found a box of books, and 
pouncing upon her cousin Fielding’s works, sat up all night 
reading. 


“J think Joseph Andrews better than his Foundling.* 
I believe I was the more struck with it, having at present a 
Fanny in my own house, not only by the name, which happens 
to be the same, but the extraordinary beauty, joined with an 
understanding yet more extraordinary at her age, which is but 
few months past sixteen : she is in the post of my chambermaid. 
I fancy you will tax my discretion for taking a servant thus quali- 
fied ; but my woman, who is also my housekeeper, was always 
teasing me with her having too much work, and complaining of 
ill-health, which determined me to take her a deputy; and 
when I was at Lovere, where I drank the waters, one of the most 
considerable merchants there pressed me to take this daughter 
of his: her mother has an uncommon good character, and the 


* The History of Tom Jones, A Foundling. 





238 Lady Mary Wortley Montagu : 


girl has had a better education than is usual for those of her 
rank ; she writes a good hand, and has been brought up to keep 
accounts, which she does to great perfection ; and had herself 
such a violent desire to serve me, that I was persuaded to take 
her: I do not yet repent it from any part of her behaviour. 
But there has been no peace in the family ever since she came 
into it; I might say the parish, all the women in it having 
declared open war with her, and the men endeavouring at 
treaties of a different sort : my own woman puts herself at the 
head of the first party, and her spleen is increased by having no 
reason for it, the young creature never stirring from my apart- 
ment, always at needle, and never complaining of anything.”’ 


Later Lady Mary has more to say about Fielding’s books : 


“ H. Fielding has given a true picture of himself and his first 
wife, in the characters of Mr. and Mrs. Booth, some compliments 
to his own figure excepted ; and, I am persuaded, several of the 
incidents he mentions are real matters of fact. I wonder he 
does not perceive Tom Jones and Mr. Booth are sorry scoun- 
drels. All these sort of books have the same fault, which I 
cannot easily pardon, being very mischievous. They place a 
merit in extravagant passions, and encourage young people to 
hope for impossible events, to draw them out of the misery they 
chose to plunge themselves into, expecting legacies from un- 
known relations, and generous benefactors to distressed virtue, 
as much out of nature as fairy treasures. Fielding has really 
a fund of true humour, and was to be pitied at his first entrance 
into the world, having no choice, as he said himself, but to be 
a hackney writer, orahackney coachman. His genius deserved 
a better fate ; but I cannot help blaming that continued indis- 
cretion, to give it the softest name, that has run through his 
life, and I am afraid stillremains. I guessed Random to be his 
though without his name. I cannot think Ferdinand Count 
Fathom wrote by the same hand, it is every way so much 
below it.”’ 











Her Life and Letters 239 


The Adventures of Roderick Random (1748) and The 
Adventures of Ferdinand Count Fathom (1753) were pub- 
lished anonymously. Lady Mary was not the only one to 
attribute Roderick Random to Fielding, and it was actually 
translated into French in his name. 

When Lady Mary heard of Fielding’s death, she expressed 
deep regret : 


“Tam sorry for H. Fielding’s death, not only as I shall read 
no more of his writings, but I believe he lost more than others, 
as no man enjoyed life more than he did, though few had less 
reason to do so, the highest of his preferment being raking in 
the lowest sinks of vice and misery. I should think it a nobler 
and less nauseous employment to be one of the staff-officers 
that conduct the nocturnal weddings. His happy constitution 
(even when he had, with great pains, half demolished it) made 
him forget everything when he was before a venison pasty, or 
over a flask of champagne ; and I am persuaded he has known 
more happy moments than any prince uponearth. His natural 
spirits gave him rapture with his cook-maid, and cheerfulness 
when he was fluxing in a garret. There was a great similitude 
between his character and that of Sir Richard Steele. He had 
the advantage both in learning and, in my opinion, genius: 
they both agreed in wanting money in spite of all their friends, 
and would have wanted it, if their hereditary lands had been 
as extensive as their imagination; yet each of them was so 
formed for happiness ; it is a pity he was not immortal.”’ 


Writing of imaginative prose literature generally, Lady 
Mary wrote : 


“The general want of invention which reigns among our 
writers, inclines me to think it is not the natural growth of our 
island, which has not sun enough to warm the imagination. 
The press is loaded by the servile flock of imitators. Lord B. 
[Bolingbroke] would have quoted Horace in this place. Since 





240 Lady Mary Wortley Montagu : 


I was born, no original has appeared excepting Congreve and 
Fielding, who would, I believe, have approached nearer to his 
excellences, if not forced by necessity to publish without cor- 
rection, and throw many productions into the world he would 
have thrown into the fire if meat could have been got without 
money, or money without scribbling. The greatest virtue, 
justice, and the most distinguishing prerogative of mankind, 
writing, when duly executed, do honour to human nature; but 
when degenerated into trades, are the most contemptible ways 
of getting bread. I am sorry not to see any more of Peregrine 
Pickle’s performances: I wish you would tell me his name.” 


It appears strange that Lady Mary should have been 
ignorant, when she wrote the above passage in July or August, 
1755, of the authorship of Roderick Random, for in January 
of that year she had evinced an interest in Smollett: “I 
am sorry my friend Smollett loses his time in translations ; 
he has certainly a talent for invention, though I think it flags 
a little in his last work. Don Quixote is a difficult under- 
taking: I shall never desire to read any attempt to redress 
him. Though I am a mere piddler in the Spanish language, 
I had rather take pains to understand him in the original 
than sleep over a stupid translation.” 

Peregrine Pickle, however, Lady Mary had read shortly 
after its appearance in I751 : 


“ T began by your direction with Peregrine Pickle. I think 
Lady Vane’s Memoirs* contain more truth and less malice than 
any leverread in my life. Whenshe speaks of her own being 
disinterested, I am apt to believe she really thinks herself so, as 
many highwaymen, after having no possibility of retrieving the 
character of honesty, please themselves with that of being 


* Frances Anne Hawes (1713-1788) married Lord William Douglas in 
1731, and after his death, William, second Viscount Vane, in 1735. 
She was notorious for profligacy and extravagance of all kinds. She was 
responsible for the scandalous Memoirs of a Lady of Quality which 
she paid Smollett to insert in Peregrine Pickle. 





Her Life and Letters 241 


generous, because, whatever they get on the road, they always 
spend at the next ale-house, and are still as beggarly as ever. 
Her history, rightly considered, would be more instructive to 
young women than any sermon I know. They may see there 
what mortifications and variety of misery are the unavoidable 
consequences of gallantries. I think there is no rational 
creature that would not prefer the life of the strictest Carmelite 
to the round of hurry and misfortune she has gone through. 
Her style is clear and concise, with some strokes of humour, 
which appear to me so much above her, I can’t help being of 
Opinion the whole has been modelled by the author of the book 
in which it is inserted, who is some subaltern admirer of hers. 
I may judge wrong, she being no acquaintance of mine, though 
she has married two of my relations. Her first wedding was 
_ attended with circumstances that made me think a visit not at 
all necessary, though I disobliged Lady Susan by neglecting it ; 
and the second, which happened soon after, made her so near 
a neighbour, that I rather choose to stay the whole summer in 
town than partake of her balls and parties of pleasure, to which 
I did not think it proper to introduce you; and had no other 
way of avoiding it, without incurring the censure of a most 
unnatural mother for denying you diversions that the pious 
Lady Ferrers permitted to her exemplary daughters. Mr. 
Shirley has had uncommon fortune in making the conquest of 
two such extraordinary ladies, equal in their heroic contempt of 
shame, and eminent above their sex, the one for beauty, and the 
other wealth, both which attract the pursuit of all mankind, 
and have been thrown into his arms with the same unlimited 
fondness. He appeared to me gentile [sic], well bred, well shaped 
and sensible ; but the charms of his face and eyes, which Lady 
Vane describes with so much warmth, were, I confess, always 
invisible to me, and the artificial part of his character very 
glaring, which I think her story shows in a strong light.” 


Of minor novelists Lady Mary had also something to say 
from time to time. 


Q 


7 








242 Lady Mary Wortley Montagu : 


‘Sally [Fielding] has mended her style in her last volume 
of David Simple, which conveys a useful moral, though she 
does not seem to have intended it : I mean, shows the ill con- 
sequences of not providing against casual losses, which happen 
to almost everybody. Mrs. Orgueil’s character is well drawn, 
and is frequently to be met with. The Art of Tormenting, 
the Female Quixote* and Siv C. Goodville are all sale work. 
I suppose they proceed from her pen, and heartily pity her, con- 
strained by her circumstances to seek her bread by a method, 
I do not doubt, she despises. Tell me who is that accom- 
plished countess she celebrates. I left no such person in 
London; nor can I imagine who is meant by the English 
Sappho mentioned in Betsy Thoughtless, whose adventures 
and those of Jenny Jessamy, gave me some amusement.” 


‘““T have read The Cry} and if I would write in the style 
to be admired by good Lord Orrery, I would tell you The Cry 
made me ready to cry, and the Avt of Tormenting tormented | 
me verymuch. I take them to be Sally Fielding’s, and also the 
Female Quixote ; the plan of that is pretty, but ill executed : 
on the contrary, the fable of The Cry is the most absurd I ever 
saw, but the sentiments generally just; and I think, if well 
dressed, would make a better body of ethics than Bolingbroke’s. 
Her inventing new words, that are neither more harmonious or 
significant than those already in use, is intolerable. 


“The next book I laid my hand on was The Parish Girl 
which interested me enough not to be able to quit it till it was 
read over, though the author has fallen into the common mis- 
take of romance-writers ; intending a virtuous character, and 
not knowing how to draw it; the first step of his heroine 
(leaving her patroness’s house) being altogether absurd and 
ridiculous, justly entitling her to all the misfortunes she met 
with. 


* By Charlotte Lennox. 
t By Sarah Fielding and Miss Collier. 





Her Life and Letters 243 


“ Candles came (and my eyes grown weary), I took up the 
next book, merely because I supposed from the title it could not 
engage me long. It was Pompey the Little,* which has 
really diverted me more than any of the others, and it was 
impossible to go to bed till it was finished. - It was a real and 
exact representation of life, as it is now acted in London, as it 
was in my time, and as it will be (I do not doubt) a hundred 
years hence, with some little variation of dress, and perhaps 
government. I found there many of my acquaintance. Lady 
T. and Lady O. are so well painted, I fancied I heard them 
talk, and have heard them say the very things there 
repeated: 217. + 

“IT opened my eyes this morning on Leonora, from which I 
defy the greatest chemist in morals to extract any instruction ; 
the style most affectedly florid, and naturally insipid, with such 
a confused heap of admirable characters, that never were, or 
can be,in human nature. I flung it aside after fifty pages, and 
laid hold of Mrs. Philips, where I expected to find at least 
probable, if not true facts, and was not disappointed. There 
is a great similitude in the genius and adventures (the one 
being productive of the other) between Madame Constantia 
and Lady Vane: the first mentioned has the advantage in 
birth and, if I am not mistaken, in understanding: they have 
both had scandalous lawsuits with their husbands, and are 
endowed with the same intrepid assurance. Con. seems to 
value herself also on her generosity, and has given the same 
proofs of it. The parallel might be drawn out to be as long as 
any of Plutarch’s; but I dare swear you are already heartily 
weary of my remarks, and wish I had not read so much in so 
short a time, that you might not be troubled with my com- 
ments ; but you must suffer me to say something of the polite 
Mr. S*, whose name I should never have guessed by the 
rapturous description his mistress makes of his person, having 
always looked upon him as one of the most disagreeable 


* By Francis Coventry. 








244 Lady Mary Wortley Montagu : 


a a eee — ——— 





Se ee ee Se 


fellows about town, as odious in his outside as stupid in his 
conversation, and I should as soon have expected to hear of 
his conquests at the head of an army as among women ; yet 
he has been, it seems, the darling favourite of the most ex- 
perienced of the sex, which shows me I am a very bad judge of 
merit. But I agree with Mrs. Philips, that, however profligate 
she may have been, she is infinitely his superior in virtue ; and 
if her penitence is as sincere as she says, she may expect their 
future fate to be like that of Dives and Lazarus.” 

Lady Mary received from her daughter a copy of Lord 
Orrery’s Remarks on the Life and Writings of Jonathan Swvft, 
published in 31751, six years after the death of Swift. This 
book so aroused the ire of Lady Mary that, writing of it, she 
attacked everyone concerned. 


“Lord Orrery’s work has extremely entertained, and not 
at all surprised me, having the honour of being acquainted 
with him, and knowing him for one of those danglers after 
wit, who, like those after beauty, spend their time in humbly 
admiring, and are happy in being permitted to attend, though 
they are laughed at, and only encouraged to gratify the insatiate 
vanity of those professed wits and beauties who aim at being 
publicly distinguished in those characters. Dean Swift, 
by his lordship’s own account, was so intoxicated with the love 
of flattery, he sought it amongst the lowest of the people, and 
the silliest of women ; and was never so well pleased with any 
companions as those that worshipped him while he insulted 
them. It is a wonderful condescension in a man of quality to 
offer his incense in such a crowd, and think it an honour to 
share a friendship with Sheridan, &c., especially being himself 
endowed with such universal merit as he displays in these 
Letters, where he shows that he is a poet, a patriot, a philosopher, 
a physician, a critic, a complete scholar, and most excellent 
moralist ; shining in private life as a submissive son, a tender 
father, and zealous friend. His only error has been that love 
of learned ease which he has indulged in a solitude, which has 








Her Life and Letters 245 


prevented the world from being blest with such a general, 
minister, or admiral, being equal to any of these employments, 
if he would have turned his talents to the use of the public. 
Heaven be praised, he has now drawn his pen in its service, 
and given an example to mankind that the most villanous 
actions, nay, the coarsest nonsense, are only small blemishes in 
a great genius. I happen to think quite contrary, weak woman 
aslam. Ihave always avoided the conversation of those who 
endeavour to raise an opinion of their understanding by ridi- 
culing what both law and decency obliges them to revere ; 
but, whenever I have met with any of those bright spirits who 
would be smart on sacred subjects, I have ever cut short their 
discourse by asking them if they had any lights and revelations 
by which they would propose new articles of faith ? Nobody 
can deny but religion is a comfort to the distressed, a cordial to 
the sick, and sometimes a restraint on the wicked ; therefore, 
whoever would argue or laugh it out of the world, without giving 
some equivalent for it, ought to be treated as a common 
enemy : but, when this language comes from a churchman, who 
enjoys large benefices and dignities from that very Church he 
openly despises, it is an object of horror for which 1 want a 
name, and can only be excused by madness, which I think the 
Dean was strongly touched with. His character seems to me a 
parallel with that of Caligula ; and had he had the same power 
would have made the same use of it. That emperor erected a 
temple to himself, where he was his own high priest, preferred 
his horse to the highest honours in the state, professed enmity 
to [the] human race, and at last lost his life by a nasty jest 
on one of his inferiors, which | dare swear Swift would have made 
inhis place. There can be no worse picture made of the Doctor's 
morals than he has given us himself in the letters printed by 
Pope. We see him vain, trifling, ungrateful to the memory of 
his patron, the Earl of Oxford, making a servile court where he 
had any interested views, and meanly abusive when they were 
disappointed, and, as he says (in his own phrase), flying in the 
face of mankind, in company with his adorer Pope. It is 








246 Lady Mary Wortley Montagu : 





pleasant to consider, that, had it not been for the good nature of 
these very mortals they contemn, these two superior beings 
were entitled, by their birth and hereditary fortune, to be only 
a couple of link-boys. I am of opinion their friendship would 
have continued, though they had remained in the samekingdom: 
it had a very strong foundation—the love of flattery on the 
one side, and the love of money on the other. Pope courted 
with the utmost assiduity all the old men from whom he could 
hope a legacy, the Duke of Buckingham, Lord Peterborough, 
Sir G. Kneller, Lord Bolingbroke, Mr. Wycherley, Mr. Con- 
greve, Lord Harcourt, &c., and I do not doubt projected to 
sweep the Dean’s whole inheritance, if he could have persuaded 
him to throw up his deanery, and come to die in his house ; 
and his general preaching against money was meant to induce 
people to throw it away, that he might pick it up. There 
cannot be a stronger proof of his being capable of any action 
for the sake of gain than publishing his literary correspondence, 
which lays open such a mixture of dulness and iniquity, that 
one would imagine it visible even to his most passionate ad- 
mirers, if Lord Orrery did not show that smooth lines have as 
much influence over some people as the authority of the Church 
in these countries, where it cannot only veil, but sanctify any 
absurdity or villany whatever. It is remarkable that his lord- 
ship’s family have been smatterers in wit and learning for 
three generations: his grandfather has left monuments of his 
good taste in several rhyming tragedies, and the romance of 
Parthenissa. His father began the world by giving his name 
to a treatise wrote by Atterbury and his club, which gained him 
great reputation ; but (like Sir Martin Marall, who would fumble 
with his lute when the music was over) he published soon after 
a sad comedy of his own, and, what was worse, a dismal tragedy 
he had found among the first Earl of Orrery’s papers. 
People could easier forgive his being partial to his own silly 
works, as a common frailty, than the want of judgment in 
producing a piece that dishonoured his father’s memory. 

“ Thus fell into dust a fame that had made a blaze by 








Her Life and Letters 247 


borrowed fire. To do justice to the present lord, I do not doubt 
this fine performance is all his own, and is a public benefit, if 
every reader has been as well diverted with it as myself. I 


verily believe it has contributed to the establishment of my 
health.”’ 


Nor was Lady Mary more kindly about the writings and 
character of Lord Bolingbroke, for whom she had always had a 
feeling even more of hatred than disapproval. 


‘“ T have now read over the books you were so good to send, 
and intend to say something of them all, though some are not 
worth speaking of’ (she wrote toher daughter). ‘‘Ishall begin, 
in respect to his dignity, with Lord Bolingbroke, who is a 
glaring proof how far vanity can blind a man, and how easy it 
is to varnish over to one’s self the most criminal conduct. He 
declares he always loved his country, though he confesses he 
endeavoured to betray her to popery and slavery ; and loved 
his friends, though he abandoned them in distress, with all the 
blackest circumstances of treachery. His account of the Peace 
of Utrecht is almost equally unfair or partial : I shall allow that, 
perhaps, the views of the Whigs, at that time, were too vast 
and the nation, dazzled by military glory, had hopes too 
sanguine ; but sure the same terms that the French consented 
to, at the treaty of Gertruydenberg, might have been obtained ; 
or if the displacing of the Duke of Marlborough raised the 
spirits of our enemies to a degree of refusing what they had 
before offered, how can he excuse the guilt of removing him 
from the head of a victorious army, and exposing us to submit 
to any articles of peace, being unable to continue the war? I 
agree with him, that the idea of conquering France is a wild, 
extravagant notion, and would, if possible, be impolitic ; but 
she might have been reduced to such a state as would have 
rendered her incapable of being terrible to her neighbours for 
some ages: nor should we have been obliged, as we have done 
almost ever since, to bribe the French ministers to let us live 





248 Lady Mary Wortley Montagu : 


in quiet. So much for his political reasonings, which, I confess, 
are delivered in a florid, easy style; but I cannot be of Lord 
Orrery’s opinion, that he is one of the best English writers. 
Well-turned periods or smooth lines are not the perfection 
either of prose or verse ; they may serve to adorn, but can never 
stand in the place of good sense. Copiousness of words, how- 
ever ranged, is always false eloquence, though it will ever 
impose on some sort of understandings. How many readers 
and admirers has Madame de Sévigné, who only gives us, in a 
lively manner and fashionable phrases, mean sentiments, vulgar 
prejudices, and endless repetitions? Sometimes the tittle- 
tattle of a fine lady, sometimes that of an old nurse, always tittle- 
tattle ; yet so well gilt over by airy expressions, and a flowing 
style, she will always please the same people to whom Lord 
Bolingbroke will shine as a first-rate author. She is so far 
to be excused, as her letters were not intended for the press ; 
while her labours to display to posterity all the wit and learning 
he is master of, and sometimes spoils a good argument by a pro- 
fusion of words, running out into several pages a thought that 
might have been more clearly expressed in a few lines, and, 
what is worse, often falls into contradiction and repetitions, 
which are almost unavoidable to all voluminous writers, and 
can only be forgiven to those retailers whose necessity compels 
them to diurnal scribbling, who load their meaning with epi- 
thets, and run into digressions, because (in the jockey phrase) 
it rids the ground, that is, covers a certain quantity of paper, 
to answer the demand of the day. A great part of Lord B.’s 
letters are designed to show his reading, which, indeed, appears 
to have been very extensive ; but I cannot perceive that such 
a minute account of it can be of any use to the pupil he pre- 
tends to instruct ; nor can I help thinking he is far below either 
Tillotson or Addison, even in style, though the latter was 
sometimes more diffuse than his judgment approved, to furnish 
out the length of a daily Spectator. I own I have small 
regard for Lord B. as an author, and the highest contempt for 
him asaman. He came into the world greatly favoured both 





Her Life and Letters 249 


by nature and fortune, blest with a noble birth, heir to a large 
estate, endowed with a strong constitution, and, as I have 
heard, a beautiful figure, high spirits, a good memory and a 
lively apprehension, which was cultivated by a learned educa- 
tion : all these glorious advantages being left to the direction of 
a judgment stifled by unbounded vanity, he dishonoured his 
birth, lost his estate, ruined his reputation, and destroyed his 
health, by a wild pursuit of eminence even in vice and trifles. 

“T am far from making misfortune a matter ofreproach. I 
know there are accidental occurences not to be foreseen or 
avoided by human prudence, by which a character may be 
injured, wealth dissipated, or a constitution impaired: but I 
think I may reasonably despise the understanding of one who 
conducts himself insuch a manner as naturally produces such 
lamentable consequences, and continues in the same destruc- 
tive paths to the end of a long life, ostentatiously boasting of 
morals and philosophy in print, and with equal ostentation 
bragging of the scenes of low debauchery in public conversation, 
though deplorably weak both in mind and body, and his 
virtue and his vigour in a state of non-existence. His con- 
federacy with Swift and Pope puts me in mind of that of 
Bessus and his sword-men, in the King and no King,* who 
endeavour to support themselves by giving certificates of each 
other’s merit. Pope has triumphantly declared that they may 
do and say whatever silly things they please, they will still be 
the greatest geniuses nature ever exhibited. I am delighted 
with the comparison given of their benevolence, which is 
indeed most aptly figured by a circle in the water, which 
widens till it comes to nothing at all; but I am provoked at 
Lord B.’s misrepresentation of my favourite Atticus, who seems 
to have been the only Roman that, from good sense, had a 
true notion of the times in which he lived, in which the republic 
was inevitably perishing, and the two factions, who pretended 
to support it, equally endeavouring to gratify their ambition in 














* A play by Beaumont and Fletcher, licensed for the stage in 1611, 





250 Lady Mary Wortley Montagu : 


its ruin. A wise man, in that case, would certainly declare for 
neither, and try to save himself and family from the general 
wreck, which could not be done but by a superiority of under- 
standing acknowledged on both sides. I see no glory in losing 
life or fortune by being the dupe of either, and very much 
applaud that conduct which could preserve an universal esteem 
amidst the fury of opposite parties. We are obliged to act 
vigorously, where action can do any good; but in a storm, 
when it is impossible to work with success, the best hands and 
ablest pilots may laudably gain the shore if they can. Atticus 
could be a friend to men without engaging in their passions, 
disapprove their maxims without awaking their resentment, and 
be satisfied with his own virtue without seeking popular fame : 
he had the reward of his wisdom in his tranquillity, and will 
ever stand among the few examples of true philosophy, either 
ancient or modern... . 

“I must add a few words on the Essay on Extle, which | 
read with attention, as a subject that touched me. I found 
the most abject dejection under a pretended fortitude. That 
the author felt it, can be no doubt to one that knows (as I do) 
the mean submissions and solemn promises he made to obtain 
a return, flattering himself (I suppose) he need only appear to 
be at the head of the administration, as every ensign of sixteen 
fancies he is in a fair way to be a general on the first sight of his 
commission. 

“You will think I have been too long on the character of 
Atticus. I own I took pleasure in explaining it. Pope 
thought himself covertly very severe on Mr. Addison by giving 
him that name ; and I feel indignation when he is abused, both 
from his own merit, and having been your father’s friend ; be- 
sides that it is naturally shocking to see any one lampooned 
after his death by the same man who had paid him the most 
servile court while he lived and was highly obliged by him.”’ 


As a periodical writer she compared Johnson unfavourably 
with Steele and Addison : 


Her Life and Letters 251 


“The Rambler is certainly a strong misnomer; he 
always plods in the beaten road of his predecessors, following 
the Spectator (with the same pace a pack-horse would do a 
hunter) in the style that is proper to lengthen a paper. These 
writers may, perhaps, be of service to the public, which is saying 
a great deal intheirfavour. There are numbers of both sexes 
who never read anything but such productions, and cannot 
spare time, from doing nothing, to go through a sixpenny 
pamphlet. Such gentle readers may be improved by a moral 
hint, which, though repeated over and over, from generation to 
generation, they never heard in their lives. I should be glad 
to know the name of this laborious author.”’ 





252 Lady Mary Wortley Montagu : 


CHAPTER XV 
LADY MARY ON EDUCATION AND WOMAN'S RIGHTS 


The choice of books for children’s reading—The dangers of a narrow 
education—Lady Mary advocates the higher education of women— 
Girls should be taught languages—Lady Mary’s theories of educa- 
tion for girls—Women writers in Italy—A “‘ rumpus ’’ made by 
ladies in the House of Lords—Woman’s Rights—Lady Mary’s 
views on religion. 


In spite of her own fondness for books, Lady Mary was not a 
wholehearted believer in reading for young folk, unless the 
choice of volumes was carefully made by some competent 
person. This point she emphasised in one of her letters to her 
daughter. . 


“TI can’t forbear saying something in relation to my grand- 
daughters, who are very near my heart. If any of them are 
fond of reading, I would not advise you to hinder them (chiefly 
because it is impossible) seeing poetry, plays, or romances ; 
but accustom them to talk over what they read, and point 
out to them, as you are very capable of doing, the absurdity 
often concealed under fine expressions, where the sound is apt 
to engage the admiration of young people. I was so much 
charmed, at fourteen, with the dialogue of Henry and Emma, 
I can say it by heart to this day, without reflecting on the 
monstrous folly of the story in plain prose, where a young heiress 
to a fond father is represented falling in love with a fellow she 
had only seen as a huntsman, a falconer, and a beggar, and who 
confesses, without any circumstances of excuse, that he is 





Her Life and Letters 253 





obliged to run his country, having newly committed a murder. 
She ought reasonably to have supposed him, at best, a highway- 
man ; yet the virtuous virgin resolves to run away with him, to 
live among the banditti, and wait upon his trollop, if she had no 
other way of enjoying his company. This senseless tale is, 
however, so well varnished with melody of words and pomp of 
sentiments, I am convinced it has hurt more girls than ever were 
injured by the lewdest poems extant.” 


Life, Lady Mary was at pains to insist upon, is a much better 
instructor for the young than any story-book, however innocu- 
ous it may seem to grown-up people, who for the greater number 
have not the faculty of seeing how the tale would have affected 
them in their childhood. 


“ T congratulate my granddaughters on being born in an age 
so much enlightened. Sentiments are certainly extreme silly, 
and only qualify young people to be the bubbles of all their 
acquaintance. I do not doubt the frequency of assemblies 
has introduced a more enlarged way of thinking ; it is a kind 
of public education, which I have always thought as necessary 
for girls as for boys. A woman married at five-and-twenty, 
from under the eye of a strict parent, is commonly as ignorant 
as she was at five; and no more capable of avoiding the 
snares, and struggling with the difficulties, she will infallibly 
meet with in the commerce of the world. The knowledge of 
mankind (the most useful of all knowledge) can only be acquired 
by conversing with them. Books are so far from giving that 
instruction, they fill the head with a set of wrong notions, from 
whence spring the tribes of Clarissas, Harriets, &c. Yet such 
was the method of education when I was in England, which I 
had it not in my power to correct; the young will always 
adopt the opinions of all their companions, rather than the 
advice of their mothers.”’ 


“ Tgnorance and a narrow education lay the foundations of 








254 Lady Mary Wortley Montagu : 


vice,” Mary Astell had laid down as an axiom, and Lady Mary 
was always propounding this to her daughter. 


‘“‘T am extremely concerned to hear you complain of ill 
health, at a time of life when you ought to be in the flower of 
your strength. I hope I need not recommend to you the care 
of it: the tenderness you have for your children is sufficient 
to enforce you to the utmost regard for the preservation of a 
life so necessary to their well-being. I do not doubt your 
prudence in their education: neither can I say anything par- 
ticular relating to it at this distance, different tempers requir- 
ing different management. In general, never attempt to 
govern them (as most people do) by deceit : if they find them- 
selves cheated, even in trifles, it will so far lessen the authority 
of their instructor, as to make them neglect all their future 
admonitions. And, if possible, breed them free from prejudices ; 
those contracted in the nursery often influence the whole life 
after, of which I have seen many melancholy examples. I 
shall say no more of this subject, nor would have said this little 
if you had not asked my advice: ’tis much easier to give rules 
than to practise them. Iam sensible my own natural temper is 
too indulgent : I think it the least dangerous error, yet still it 
is anerror. I can only say with truth, that I do not know in 
my whole life having ever endeavoured to impose on you, or 
give a false colour to anything that I represented to you. If 
your daughters are inclined to love reading, do not check their 
inclination by hindering them of the diverting part of it ; it is 
as necessary for the amusement of women as the reputation of 
men ; but teach them not to expect or desire any applause from 
it. Let their brothers shine, and let them content themselves 
with making their lives easier by it, which I experimentally 
know is more effectually done by study than any other way. 
Ignorance is as much the fountain of vice as idleness, and indeed 
generally producesit. People that do not read, or work for a live- 
lihood, have many hours they know not howtoemploy ; especially 
women, who commonly fall into vapours, or something worse.”’ 





Her Life and Letters 255 


Lady Mary was an advocate, one of the earliest advocates, 
for the higher education of woman. Although she had educated 
herself, she realised that the circumstances in her case were 
exceptional, and no doubt it was also borne in on her that she 
had been an exceptional girl even as she was a remarkable 
woman. It was not so much lack of education against which 
she tilted, as ill-directed studies. 

“You have given me a great deal of satisfaction by your 
account of your eldest daughter. Iam particularly pleased to 
hear she is a good arithmetician ; it is the best proof of under- 
standing: the knowledge of numbers is one of the chief dis- 
tinctions between us and the brutes. If there is anything in 
blood, you may reasonably expect your children should be 
endowed with an uncommon share of good sense. Mr. Wort- 
ley’s family and mine have both produced some of the greatest 
men that have been born in England: I mean Admiral Sand- 
wich, and my grandfather, who was distinguished by the name 
of Wise William. I have heard Lord Bute’s father mentioned 
as an extraordinary genius, though he had not many oppor- 
tunities of showing it; and his uncle, the present Duke of 
Argyll, has one of the best heads I ever knew. I will therefore 
speak to you as supposing Lady Mary not only capable, but 
desirous of learning; in that case by all means let her be 
indulged in it. You will tell me I did not make it a part of 
your education: your prospect was very different from hers. 
As you had no defect either in mind or person to hinder, and 
much in your circumstances to attract, the highest offers, it 
seemed your business to learn how to live in the world, as it is 
hers to know how to be easy out of it. It is the common error 
of builders and parents to follow some plan they think beautiful 
(and perhaps is so), without considering that nothing is beauti- 
ful that is displaced. Hence we see so many edifices raised that 
the raisers can never inhabit, being too large for their fortunes. 
Vistas are laid open over barren heaths, and apartments con- 
trived for a coolness very agreeable in Italy, but killing in the 
north of Britain: thus every woman endeavours to breed her 








256 Lady Mary Wortley Montagu : 


daughter a fine lady, qualifying her for a station in which she 
will never appear, and at the same time incapacitating her for 
that retirement to which she is destined. Learning, if she has 
a real taste for it, will not only make her contented, but happy 
init. Noentertainment is so cheap as reading, nor any pleasure 
so lasting. She will not want new fashions, nor regret the loss 
of expensive diversions, or variety of company, if she can be 
amused with an authorin her closet. To render this amusement 
extensive, she should be permitted to learn the languages. I 
have heard it lamented that boys lose so many years in mere 
learning of words: this is no objection to a girl, whose time is 
not so precious: she cannot advance herself in any profession, 
and has therefore more hours to spare; and as you say her 
memory is good, she will be very agreeably employed this way. 
There are two cautions to be given on this subject : first, not to 
think herself learned when she could read Latin, or even Greek. 
Languages are more properly to be called vehicles of learning 
than learning itself, as may be observed in many schoolmasters, 
who, though perhaps critics in grammar, are the most ignorant 
fellows upon earth. True knowledge consists in knowing 
things, not words. I would wish her no further a linguist 
than to enable her to read books in their originals, that are 
often corrupted, and always injured, by translations. Two 
hours’ application every morning will bring this about much 
sooner than you can imagine, and she will have leisure enough 
besides to run over the English poetry, which is a more im- 
portant part of a woman’s education than it is generally 
supposed. Many a young damsel has been ruined by a fine 
copy of verses, which she would have laughed at if she had 
known it had been stolen from Mr. Waller. I remember, 
when I was a girl, I saved one of my companions from destruc- 
tion, who communicated to me an epistle she was quite charmed 
with. As she had a natural good taste, she observed the lines 
were not so smooth as Prior’s or Pope’s, but had more thought 
and spirit than any of theirs. She was wonderfully delighted 
with such a demonstration of her lover’s sense and passion, 





Her Life and Letters 257 


and not a little pleased with her own charms, that had force 
enough to inspire such elegancies. In the midst of this triumph 
I showed her that they were taken from Randolph’s poems, and 
the unfortunate transcriber was dismissed with the scorn he 
deserved. To say truth, the poor plagiary was very unlucky to 
fall into my hands; that author being no longer in fashion, 
would have escaped any one of less universal reading than 
myself. You should encourage your daughter to talk over with 
you what she reads; and, as you are very capable of distinguish- 
ing, take care she does not mistake pert folly for wit and 
humour, or rhyme for poetry, which are the common errors of 
young people, and have a train of ill consequences. The 
second caution to be given her (and which is most absolutely 
necessary) is to conceal whatever learning she attains, with as 
much solicitude as she would hide crookedness or lameness ; 
the parade of it can only serve to draw on her the envy, and 
consequently the most inveterate hatred, of all he and she 
fools, which will certainly be at least three parts in four of all 
her acquaintance. The use of knowledge in our sex, besides 
the amusement of solitude, is to moderate the passions, and 
learn to be contented with a small expense, which are the 
certain effects of a studious life ; and it may be preferable even 
to that fame which men have engrossed to themselves, and will 
not suffer us to share. You will tell me I have not observed 
this rule myself ; but you are mistaken: it is only inevitable 
accident that has given me any reputation that way. I have 
always carefully avoided it, and ever thought it a misfortune. 
The explanation of this paragraph would occasion a long digres- 
sion, which I will not trouble you with, it being my present 
design only to say what I think useful for the instruction of 
my granddaughter, which I have much at heart. Ifshe has the 
same inclination (I should say passion) for learning that I was 
born with, history, geography, and philosophy will furnish 
her with materials to pass away cheerfully a longer life than is 
allotted to mortals. I believe there are few heads capable of 
making Sir I. Newton’s calculations, but the result of them is 
R 





258 Lady Mary Wortley Montagu : 





not difficult to be understood by a moderate capacity. Do not 
fear this should make her affect the character of Lady : 
or Lady——, or Mrs. ——-: those women are ridiculous, not 
because they have learning but because they have it not. One 
thinks herself a complete historian, after reading Echard’s 
Roman History; another a profound philosopher, having 
got by heart someof Pope’s unintelligible essays ; anda third 
an able divine, on the strength of Whitefield’s sermons: thus 
you hear them screaming politics and controversy. 

“It is a saying of Thucydides, ignorance is bold, and know- 
ledge reserved. Indeed, it is impossible to be far advanced in 
it without being more humbled by a conviction of human 
ignorance, than elated by learning. At the same time I recom- 
mend books, I neither exclude work nor drawing. I think it as 
scandalous for a woman not to know how to use a needle, as for 
aman not to know how to useasword. I was once extremely 
fond of my pencil, and it was a great mortification to me when 
my father turned off my master, having made a considerable 
progress for a short time I learnt. My over-eagerness in the 
pursuit of it had brought a weakness on my eyes, that made 
it necessary to leave it off; and all the advantage I got was 
the improvement of my hand. I see, by hers, that practice 
will make her a ready writer: she may attain it by serving you 
for a secretary, when your health or affairs make it troublesome 
to you to write yourself ; and custom will make it an agreeable 
amusement to her. Shecannot have too many for that station 
of life which will probably be her fate. The ultimate end of 
your education was to make you a good wife (and I have the 
comfort to hear that you are one): hers ought to be, to make 
her happy in a virgin state. I will not say itis happier ; but it 
is undoubtedly safer than any marriage. In a lottery, which 
there are (at the lowest computation) ten thousand blanks to 
a prize, it is the most prudent choice not to venture. I have 
always been so thoroughly persuaded of this truth, that, not- 
withstanding the flattering views I had for you (as I never 
intended you a sacrifice to my vanity), I thought I owed you 








Her Life and Letters 259 


the justice to lay before you all the hazards attending matri- 
mony: you may recollect I did so in the strongest manner. 
Perhaps you may have more success in the instructing your 
daughter: she has so much company at home, she will not 
need seeking it abroad, and will more readily take the notions 
you think fit to give her. As you were alone in my family, it 
would have been thought a great cruelty to suffer you no com- 
panions of your own age, especially having so many near 
relations, and I do not wonder their opinions influenced yours. 
I was not sorry to see you not determined on a single life, know- 
ing it was not your father’s intention, and contented myself 
with endeavouring to make your home so easy that you might 
not be in haste to leave it.”’ 


Lady Mary’s views on the education of children were well 
in advance of her day. They were certainly not the stereo- 
typed opinions current among governesses or even parents 
somewhat more enlightened than the rest, and evidently she had 
given much consideration to the subject before she put her 
thoughts on paper. 


‘People commonly educate their children as they build 
their houses, according to some plan they think beautiful, with- 
out considering whether it is suited to the purposes for which 
they are designed. Almost all girls of quality are educated as 
if they were to be great ladies, which is often as little to be 
expected, as an immoderate heat of the sun in the north of 
Scotland. You should teach yours to confine their desires to 
probabilities, to be as useful as is possible to themselves, and 
to think privacy (as it is) the happiest state of life. I do not 
doubt you giving them all the instructions necessary to form 
them to a virtuous life; but ’tis a fatal mistake to do this 
without proper restrictions. Vices are often hid under the 
name of virtues, and the practice of them followed by the 
worst of consequences. Sincerity, friendship, piety, disin- 
terestedness, and generosity, are all great virtues; but, 





260 | Lady Mary Wortley Montagu : 


pursued without discretion, become criminal. I have seen ladies 
indulge their own ill humour by being very rude and imperti- 
nent, and think they deserved approbation by saying I love to 
speak truth. One of your acquaintance made a ball the next 
day after her mother died, to show she was sincere. I believe 
your own reflection will furnish you with but too many examples 
of the ill effects of the rest of the sentiments I have mentioned, 
when too warmly embraced. They are generally recommended 
to young people without limits or distinction, and this prejudice 
hurries them into great misfortunes, while they are applauding 
themselves in the noble practice (as they fancy) of very 
eminent virtues. 

“T cannot help adding (out of my real affection to you), I 
wish you would moderate that fondness you have for your 
children. I do not mean you should abate any part of your 
care, or not do your duty to them in its utmost extent: but I 
would have you early prepare yourself for disappointments, 
which are heavy in proportion to their being surprising. It is 
hardly possible, in such a number, that none should be un- 
happy ; prepare yourself against a misfortune of that kind. I 
confess there is hardly any more difficult to support ; yet it is 
certain imagination has a great share in the pain of it, and it 
is more in our power than it is commonly believed to soften 
whatever ills are founded or augmented by fancy. Strictly 
speaking, there is but one real evil—I mean, acute pain ; all 
other complaints are so considerably diminished by time, that 
it is plain the grief is owing to our passion, since the sensation 
of it vanishes when that is over. 

‘There is another mistake, I forgot to mention, usual in 
mothers: if any of their daughters are beauties, they take 
great pains to persuade them that they are ugly, or at least 
that they think so, which the young woman never fails to 
believe springs from envy, and is perhaps not much in the 
wrong. I would, if possible, give them a just notion of their 
figure, and show them how far it is valuable. Every advantage 
has its price, and may be either over or undervalued. It is 





Her Life and Letters 261 


the common doctrine of (what are called) good books, to 
inspire a contempt of beauty, riches, greatness, &c., which has 
done as much mischief among the young of our sex as an over 
eager desire of them. They should look on these things as 
blessings where they are bestowed, though not necessaries that 
it is impossible to be happy without.”’ 


Of course, all these expressions of opinions, although here 
gathered together, were spread over a term of years. Yet, 
Lady Mary had from time to time some qualms as to how her 
admonitions would be received byher daughter, although, as she 
was careful once to point out : “‘ I do not give them as believing 
my age has furnished me with superior wisdom, but in compliance 
with your desire.” 


“ T cannot help writing a sort of apology for my laster letter, 
foreseeing that you will think it wrong, or at least Lord Bute 
will be extremely shocked at the proposal of a learned educa- 
tion for daughters, which the generality of men believe as great 
a profanation as the clergy would do if the laity should presume 
to exercise the functions of the priesthood. I desire you 
would take notice, I would not have learning enjoined them as 
a task, but permitted as a pleasure, if their genius leads them 
naturally to it. I look upon my granddaughters as a sort of 
lay nuns: destiny may have laid up other things for them, but 
they have no reason to expect to pass their time otherwise than 
their aunts do at present ; and I know, by experience, it is in 
the power of study not only to make solitude tolerable, but 
agreeable. I have now lived almost seven years in a stricter 
retirement than yours in the Isle of Bute, and can assure you, 
I have never had half an hour heavy on my hands, for want of 
something to do. Whoever will cultivate their own mind, will 
find full employment. Every virtue does not only require 
great care in the planting, but as much daily solicitude in 
cherishing, as exotic fruits and flowers. The vices and passions 
(which I am afraid are the natural product of the soil) demand 


262 Lady Mary Wortley Montagu : 
perpetual weeding. Add to this the search after knowledge 
(every branch of which is entertaining), and the longest life 
is too short for the pursuit of it; which, though in some 
regards confined to very strait limits, leaves still a vast variety 
of amusements to those capable of tasting them, which is 
utterly impossible for those that are blinded by prejudices 
which are the certain effect of an ignorant education. My 
own was one of the worst in the world, being exactly the same 
as Clarissa Hawlowe’s; her pious Mrs. Norton so perfectly 
resembling my governess, who had been nurse to my mother, 
I could almost fancy the author was acquainted with her. She 
took so much pains, from my infancy, to fill my head with 
superstitious tales and false notions, it was none of her fault I 
am not at this day afraid of witches and hobgoblins, or turned 
methodist. Almost all girls are bred after this manner. | 
believe you are the only woman (perhaps I might say, person) 
that never was either frighted or cheated into anything by 
your parents. I can truly affirm, I never deceived anybody in 
my life, excepting (which I confess has often happened unde- 
signedly) by speaking plainly ; as Earl Stanhope used to say 
(during his ministry) he always imposed on the foreign ministers 
by telling them the naked truth, which, as they thought 
impossible to come from the mouth of a statesman, they never 
failed to write informations to their respective courts directly 
contrary to the assurances he gave them: most people con- 
founding the ideas of sense and cunning, though there are 
really no two things in nature more opposite: it is, in part, 
from this false reasoning, the unjust custom prevails of de- 
barring our sex from the advantages of learning, the men 
fancying the improvement of our understandings would only 
furnish us with more art to deceive them, which is directly 
contrary to the truth. Fools are always enterprising, not 
seeing the difficulties of deceit, or the ill consequences of 
detection. I could give many examples of ladies whose ill 
conduct has been very notorious, which has been owing to that 
ignorance which has exposed them to idleness, which is justly 








Her Life and Letters 263 


called the mother of mischief. There is nothing so like the 
education of a woman of quality as that of a prince: they are 
taught to dance, and the exterior part of what is called good 
breeding, which, if they attain, they are extraordinary creatures 
in their kind, and have all the accomplishments required by 
their directors. The same characters are formed by the same 
lessons, which inclines me to think (if I dare say it) that 
nature has not placed us in an inferior rank to men, no more~ 
than the females of other animals, where we see no distinction 
of capacity ; though, I am persuaded, if there was a common- 
wealth of rational horses (as Doctor Swift has supposed), it 
would be an established maxim among them, that a mare could 
not be taught to pace. I could add a great deal on this sub- 
ject, but I am not now endeavouring to remove the prejudices 
of mankind; my only design is, to point out to my grand- 
daughters the method of being contented with that retreat, 
to which probably their circumstances will oblige them, and 
which is perhaps preferable to all the show of public life. It 
has always been my inclination. Lady Stafford (who knew me 
better than anybody else in the world, both from her own just 
discernment, and my heart being ever as open to her as my- 
self) used to tell me, my true vocation was a monastery ; and 
I now find, by experience, more sincere pleasure with my books 
and garden, than all the flutter of a court could give me. 

“Tf you follow my advice in relation to Lady Mary, my 
correspondence may be of use to her ; and I shall very willingly 
give her those instructions that may be necessary in the pursuit 
of her studies. Before her age I was in the most regular 
commerce with my grandmother, though the difference 
of our time of life was much greater, she being past forty-five 
when she married my grandfather. She died at ninety-six, 
retaining, to the last, the vivacity and clearness of her under- 
standing, which was very uncommon. You cannot remember 
her, being then in your nurse’s arms. I conclude with 
repeating to you, I only recommend, but am far from com- 
manding, which I think I have no right to do. I tell you my 


264. Lady Mary Wortley Montagu : 





sentiments, because you desired to know them, and hope you 
will receive them with some partiality, as coming from 
| ‘Your most affectionate mother.” 


One of Lady Mary’s friends was Cardinal Gerolamo Guerini, 
a distinguished scholar as well as a great churchman. One 
day, in October, 1753, he sent a request, by one of his chief 
chaplains, that Lady Mary would send him her printed works for 
the shelves that he was dedicating to English literature in the 
library attached to the college at Brescia that he had founded. 


“I was struck dumb for some time with this astonishing 
request ; when I recovered my vexatious surprise (foreseeing 
the consequence), I made answer, I was highly sensible of the 
honour designed me, but, upon my word, I had never printed 
a single line in my life. I was answered in a cold tone, his 
Eniinence could send for them to England, but they would be a 
long time coming, and with some hazard; and that he had 
flattered himself I would not refuse him such a favour, and I 
need not be ashamed of seeing my name in a collection where he 
admitted none but the most eminent authors. It was to no 
purpose to endeavour to convince him. He would not stay to 
dinner, though earnestly invited ; and went away with the air 
of one that thought he had reason to be offended. 1 know his 
master will have the same sentiments, and I shall pass in his 
opinion for a monster of ingratitude, while it is the blackest of 
vices in my opinion, and of which I am utterly incapable—I 
really could cry for vexation. 

“ Sure nobody ever had such various provocations to print as 
myself. I have seen things I have wrote, so mangled and 
falsified, I have scarce known them. I have seen poems I 
never read, published with my name at length; and others, 
that were truly and singly wrote by me, printed under the 
names of others. I have made myself easy under all these 
mortifications, by the reflection I did not deserve them, having 
never aimed at the vanity of popular applause ; but I own my 








ay 


Her Life and Letters 265 


philosophy is not proof against losing a friend, and it may be 
making an enemy of one to whom I am obliged.”’ 


In this letter to Lady Mar, in which Lady Mary explains 
her plight, she goes on to deliver herself of her sentiments con- 
cerning the difference of opinion as regards women writers that 
was current in Italy and in England. 

Lady Mary held strong views on what are called to-day, or 
at least were so called until they were lately in the main con- 
ceded, women’s rights. Although she said that she did not 
complain that it was men, and men only, who were privileged 
to exercise the power of government, it is not unlikely that she 
yielded this point in order the more effectively to emphasise 
some other. Anyhow she was unfeignedly pleased to be able to 
record (to Lady Pomfret, March, 1737) a “‘ rumpus ”’ made by 
ladies who regarded their exclusion from a debate in Parliament 
as unwarrantable. 


“I confess I have often been complimented, since I have 
been in Italy, on the books I have given the public. I used 
at first to deny it with some warmth ; but, finding I persuaded 
nobody, I have of late contented myself with laughing when- 
ever I heard it mentioned, knowing the character of a learned 
woman is far from being ridiculous in this country, the greatest 
families being proud of having produced female writers; and 
a Milanese lady being now professor of mathematics in the 
university of Bologna, invited thither by a most obliging letter, 
wrote by the present Pope, who desired her to accept of the 
chair, not as a recompense for her merit, but to do honour 
to a town which is under his protection. To say truth, there 
is no part of the world where our sex is treated with so much 
contempt as in England. I do not complain of men for 
having engrossed the government: in excluding us from all 
degrees of power, they preserve us from many fatigues, many 
dangers, and perhaps many crimes. The small proportion of 
authority that has fallen to my share (only over a few children 


266 Lady Mary Wortley Montagu : 


a od en 





and servants) has always been a burden, and never a pleasure, 
and I believe every one finds it so who acts from a maxim (I 
think an indispensable duty), that whoever is under my power 
is under my protection. Those who find a joy in inflicting 
hardships, and seeing objects of misery, may have other sensa- 
tions; but I have always thought corrections, even when 
necessary, aS painful to the giver as to the sufferer, and am 
therefore very well satisfied with the state of subjection we are 
placed in: but I think it the highest injustice to be debarred 
the entertainment of my closet, and that the same studies 
which raise the character of a man should hurt that of a 
woman. We are educated in the grossest ignorance, and no 
art omitted to stifle our natural reason ; if some few get above 
their nurses’ instructions, our knowledge must rest concealed, 
and be as useless to the world as gold in the mine. I am now 
speaking according to our English notions, which may wear 
out, some ages hence, along with others equally absurd. It 
appears to me the strongest proof of a clear understanding in 
Longinus (in every light acknowledged one of the greatest men 
among the ancients), when I find him so far superior to vulgar 
prejudices as to choose his two examples of fine writing from a 
Jew (at that time the most despised people upon earth) and 
a woman. Our modern wits would be so far from quoting, 
they would scarce own they had read the works of such con- 
temptible creatures, though, perhaps, they would condescend 
to steal from them, at the same time they declared they were 
below their notice. This subject is apt to run away with me ; 
I will trouble you with no more of it.” 


‘“ Here is no news to be sent you from this place, which has 
been for this fortnight and still continues overwhelmed with 
politics, and which are of so mysterious a nature, one ought to 
have some of the gifts of Lilly or Partridge to be able to write 
about them ; and I leave all those dissertations to those distin- 
guished mortals who are endowed with the talent of divination . 
though I am at present the only one of my sex who seems to 











Her Life and Letters 267 





be of that opinion, the ladies having shown their zeal and 
appetite for knowledge in a most glorious manner. At the 
last warm debate in the House of Lords, it was unanimously 
resolved there should be no crowd of unnecessary auditors ; 
consequently the fair sex were excluded, and the gallery destined 
to the sole use of the House of Commons. Notwithstanding 
which determination, a tribe of dames resolved to show on this 
occasion that neither men nor laws could resist them. These 
heroines were Lady Huntingdon, the Duchess of Queensberry, 
the Duchess of Ancaster, Lady Westmorland, Lady Cobham, 
Lady Charlotte Edwin, Lady Archibald Hamilton and her 
daughter, Mrs. Scott, and Mrs. Pendarves, and Lady Frances 
Saunderson. I am thus particular in their names, since I look 
upon them to be the boldest assertors, and most resigned 
sufferers for liberty, I ever read of. They presented them- 
selves at the door at nine o'clock in the morning, where Sir 
William Saunderson respectfully informed them that the 
Chancellor had made an order against their admittance. The 
Duchess of Queensberry, as head of the squadron, pished at 
the ill-breeding of a mere lawyer, and desired him to let them 
upstairs privately. After some modest refusals, he swore by 
G— he would not let them in. Her Grace, with a noble 
warmth, answered, by G— they would come in in spite of 
the Chancellor and the whole House. This being reported, 
the Peers resolved to starve them out; an order was made 
that the doors should not be opened till they had raised their 
siege. These Amazons now showed themselves qualified for 
the duty of even foot soldiers ; they stood there till five in the 
afternoon, without either sustenance or evacuation, every now 
and then playing volleys of thumps, kicks, and raps against the 
door, with so much violence that the speakers in the House 
were scarce heard. When the Lords were not to be conquered 
by this, the two duchesses (very well apprised of the use of 
stratagems in war) commanded a dead silence of half an hour ; 
and the Chancellor, who thought this a certain proof of their 
absence (the Commons also being very impatient to enter), 





268 Lady Mary Wortley Montagu : 


gave order for the opening of the door, upon which they all 
rushed in, pushed aside their competitors, and placed them- 
selves in the front rows of the gallery. They stayed there till 
after eleven, when the House rose; and during the debate 
gave applause, and showed marks of dislike, not only by smiles 
and winks (which have always been allowed in these cases), 
but by noisy laughs and apparent contempts ; which is sup- 
posed the true reason why poor Lord Hervey spoke miserably. 
I beg your pardon, dear madam, for this long relation ; but ‘tis 
impossible to be short on so copious a subject ; and you must 
own this action very well worthy of record, and I think not to 
be paralleled in history, ancient or modern.”’ 


Lady Mary, however, was less concerned with “the open 
door ’’ for women in politics: her primary desire was that a 
woman should have the right, within reason, to live her own 
life, and not merely be a chattel of her husband. There is the 
conduct of her own married life to prove her sincerity. 

Her view of the Turkish woman has already been given, as 
also has her opinion that marriages should be for the limited 
period of seven years. Now, she gave her opinion of the woman 
question in Italy, and it would seem that, realising that her own 
marriage has been anything but satisfactory to either party, she 
wrote from her heart. 


“T cannot let pass in silence the prodigious alteration, since 
Misson’s writing, in regard to our sex. This reformation (or, 
if you please, depravation) began so lately as the year 1732, 
when the French overran this part of Italy; but it has been 
carried on with such fervour and success, that the Italian go far 
beyond their patterns, the Parisian ladies, in the extent of their 
liberty. 1am not so much surprised at the women’s conduct, 
as lam amazed at the change in the men’s sentiments. Jealousy, 
which was once a point of honour among them, is exploded to 
that degree, it is the most infamous and ridiculous of all 
characters ; and you cannot more affront a gentleman than to 





JoHN, LorD HERVEY OF ICKWORTH. 
After the Portrait by Van Loo in the National Portrait Gallery. 


p. 268. 








Her Life and Letters 269 


suppose him capable of it. Divorces are also introduced, and 
frequent enough ; they have long been in fashion in Genoa ; 
several of the finest and greatest ladies there having two hus- 
bands alive. The constant pretext is impotency, to which the 
man often pleads guilty, and though he marries again, and has 
children by another wife, the plea remains good by saying he 
was so in regard to his first ; and when I told them that in 
England a complaint of that kind was esteemed so impudent no 
reasonable woman would submit to make it, I was answered we 
lived without religion, and that their consciences obliged them 
rather to strain a point of modesty than to live in a state 
of damnation. However, as this method is not without in- 
convenience (it being impracticable where there is children), 
they have taken another here: the husband deposes upon oath 
that he has had a commerce with his mother-in-law, on which 
the marriage is declared incestuous and nullified, though the 
children remain legitimate. You will think this hard on 
the old lady, who is scandalised ; but it is no scandal at all, 
nobody supposing it to be true, without circumstances to con- 
firm it; but the married couple are set free to their mutual 
content ; for I believe it would be difficult to get a sentence of 
divorce, if either side made opposition: at least I have heard 
no example of it.” 


Lady Mary made no secret of her views upon marriage ; 
and though she did not so frequently air her religious beliefs, 
she often pondered the subject, and when challenged to speak 
was not reticent. As regards sacred matters, she always had 
the courage of her convictions, even as she had in mundane 
affairs. 


“T always, if possible, avoid controversial disputes : when- 
ever I cannot do it, they are very short’ (she wrote to her 
daughter in October, 1755). ‘‘I ask my adversary if he 
believes in the Scripture? When that is answered affirmatively 
their church may be proved, by a child of ten years old, 


270 Lady Mary Wortley Montagu: 


contradictory to it, in their most important points. My second 
question is, if they think St. Peter and St. Paul knew the true 
Christian religion? The constant reply is, O yes. Then say 
I, purgatory, transubstantiation, invocation of saints, adoration 
of the Virgin, relics (of which they might have had a cartload), 
the observation of Lent, is no part of it, since they neither 
taught nor practised any of these things. Vows of celibacy are 
not more contrary to nature, than to the positive precept of St. 
Paul. He mentions a very common case, in which people are 
obliged, by conscience, to marry. No mortal can promise that 
case shall never be theirs, which depends on the disposition of 
the body as much as a fever ; and ’tis as reasonable to engage 
never to feel the one as the other. He tells us, the marks of 
the Holy Spirit are charity, humility, truth, and long suffering. 
Can anything be more uncharitable than damning eternally 
so many millions for not believing what they never heard ? 
or prouder than calling their head a Vice-god? Pious frauds 
are avowedly permitted, and persecution applauded: these 
maxims cannot be dictated by the spirit of peace, which is so 
warmly preached in the Gospel. The creeds of the apostles, 
and council of Nice, do not speak of the mass, or real presence, 
as articles of belief ; and Athanasius asserts, whosoever believes 
according to them shall be saved. Jesus Christ, in answer to 
the lawyer, bids him love God above all things, and his neigh- 
bour as himself, as all that is necessary to salvation. When he 
describes the last judgment, he does not examine what sect, 
or what church, men were of, but how far they had been 
beneficent to mankind. Faith cannot determine reward or 
punishment, being involuntary, and only the consequence of 
conviction: we do not believe what we please, but what 
appears to us with the face of truth. As I donot mistake 
exclamation, invective, or ridicule for argument, I never re- 
criminate on the lives of their popes and cardinals, when they 
urge the character of Henry the Eighth ; I only answer, good 
actions are often done by all men through interested motives, 
and ’tis the common method of Providence to bring good out 





Her Life and Letters 271 


of evil: history, both sacred and profane, furnishes many 
examples of it. When they tell me I have forsook the worship 
of my ancestors, I say I have had more ancestors heathen 
than Christian, and my faithis certainly ancienter than theirs, 
since I have added nothing to the practice of the primitive 
professors of Christianity. As to the prosperity or extent of 
the dominion of their church, which Cardinal Bellarmin counts 
among the proofs of its orthodoxy, the Mahometans, who 
have larger empires, and have made a quicker progress, have a 
better plea for the visible protection of Heaven. If the fop- 
peries of their religion were only fopperies, they ought to 
be complied with, wherever it is established, like any ridiculous 
dress in fashion ; but I think them impieties: their devotions 
are scandal to humanity from their nonsense ; the mercenary 
deceits and barbarous tyranny of their ecclesiastics, inconsistent 
with moral honesty. If they object the diversity of our sects 
as a mark of reprobation, I desire them to consider, that 
objection has equal force against Christianity in general. 
When they thunder with the names of fathers and councils, 
they are surprised to find me as well (often better) acquainted 
with them than themselves. I show them the variety of their 
doctrines, their virulent contests and various factions, instead 
of that union they boast of. I have never been attacked a 
second time in any of the towns where I have resided, and 
perhaps shall never be so again after my last battle, which was 
with an old priest, a learned man, paticularly esteemed as a 
mathematician, and who has a head and heart as warm as poor 
Whiston’s. When I first came hither, he visited me every day, 
and talked of me everywhere with such violent praise, that, had 
we been young people, God knows what would have been said. 
I have always the advantage of being quite calm on a subject 
which they cannot talk of without heat. He desired I would 
put on paper what I had said. I immediately wrote one side 
of a sheet, leaving the other for his answer. He carried it with 
him, promising to bring it the next day, since which time I 
have never seen it, though I have often demanded it, being 





272 Lady Mary Wortley Montagu : 


ashamed of my defective Italian. I fancy he sent it to his 
friend the Archbishop of Milan. I have given over asking for 
it, as a desperate debt. He still visits me, but seldom, and in 
a cold sort of a way. When I have found disputants I less 
respected, I have sometimes taken pleasure in raising their 
hopes by my concessions: they are charmed when I agree 
with them in the number of the sacraments ; but are horridly 
disappointed when I explain myself by saying the word sacra- 
ment is not to be found either in Old or New Testament ; and 
one must be very ignorant not to know it is taken from the 
listing oath of the Roman soldiers, and means nothing more than 
a solemn, irrevocable engagement. Parents vow, in infant 
baptism, to educate their children in the Christian religion, 
which they take upon themselves by confirmation ; the Lord’s 
Supper is frequently renewing the same oath. Ordination 
and matrimony are solemn vows of a different kind : confession 
includes a vow of revealing all we know, and reforming what 
is amiss: extreme unction, the last vow, that we have lived in 
the faith we were baptised: in this sense they are all sacra- 
ments. As to the mysteries preached since, they were all 
invented long after, and some of them repugnant to the 
primitive institution.” 





Her Life and Letters 273 





CHAPTER XVI 
ON THE CONTINENT (1745-1760) 


Lady Mary stays at Avignon—She removes to Brescia—And then to 
Lovere—She abandons all idea of Montagu joining her abroad— 
Her house at Lovere—Her daily round—Her health—Her anxiety 
about her son—An amazing incident—A serious illness—A novel in 
a letter—Her correspondence attracts the attention of the Italian 
authorities—Sir James and Lady Frances Steuart—Politics—She is 
in the bad books of the British Resident at Venice—Lord Bute— 
The philosophy of Lady Mary—Letters to Lady Bute and Sir James 
Steuart. 


Lapy Mary liked Avignon so well that she stayed there until 
July 1746. Then she moved to Brescia, where she stayed for 
a year, and then took up her quarters at Lovere, a small place 
in Lombardy on the Lake d’Iseo, a most attractive spot, as she 
was at pains to tell her daughter at some length. Forsome time 
she alternated between Lovere and Brescia. 


“ T am now in a place the most beautifully romantic I ever 
saw in my life: it is the Tunbridge of this part of the world, 
to which I was sent by the doctor’s order, my ague often 
returning, notwithstanding the loads of bark I have taken ”’ 
(she wrote to her daughter from Lovere, July 24, 1747). “To 
say truth, I have no reason to repent my journey, though I 
was very unwilling to undertake it, it being forty miles, half 
by land and half by water; the land so stony I was almost 
shook to pieces, and I had the ill luck to be surprised with a 
storm on the lake, that if I had not been near a little port 
(where I passed a night in a very poor inn), the vessel must 

S 





274 Lady Mary Wortley Montagu : 


have been lost. A fair wind brought me hither next morning 
early. I found a very good lodging, a great deal of good 
company, and a village in many respects resembling Tunbridge 
Wells, not only in the quality of the waters, which is the 
same, but in the manner of the buildings, most of the houses 
being separate at little distances, and all built on the sides of 
hills, which indeed are far different from those of Tunbridge, 
being six times as high: they are really vast rocks of different 
figures, covered with green moss, or short grass, diversified by 
tufts of trees, little woods, and here and there vineyards, but 
no other cultivation, except gardens like those on Richmond- 
hill. The whole lake, which is twenty-five miles long, and 
three broad, is all surrounded with these impassable mountains, 
the sides of which, towards the bottom, are so thick set with 
villages (and in most of them gentlemen’s seats), that I do not 
believe there is anywhere above a mile distance one from 
another, which adds very much to the beauty of the prospect. 

“We have an opera here, which is performed three times 
in the week. I was at it last night, and should have been 
surprised at the neatness of the scenes, goodness of the voices 
and justness of the actors, if I had not remembered I was in 
Italy. Several gentlemen jumped into the orchestra, and 
joined in the concert, which I suppose is one of the freedoms 
of the place, for I never saw it in any great town. I was yet 
more amazed (while the actors were dressing for the farce that 
concluded the entertainment) to see one of the principal 
among them, and as errant a petit mative as if he had passed 
all his life at Paris, mount the stage, and present us with a 
cantata of his own performing. He had the pleasure of being 
almost deafened with applause. The ball began afterwards, 
but I was not witness of it, having accustomed myself to such 
early hours, that I was half asleep before the opera finished : it 
begins at ten o'clock, so that it was one before I could get to 
bed, though I had supped before I went, which is the custom. 

‘““T am much better pleased with the diversions on the 
water, where all the town assembles every night, and never 


Her Life and Letters 275 





without music; but we have none so rough as trumpets, 
kettle-drums, and French horns: they are all violins, lutes, 
mandolins, and flutes doux. Here is hardly a man that does 
not excel in some of these instruments, which he privately 
addresses to the lady of his affections, and the public has the 
advantage of it by his adding to the number of the musicians. 

“ The fountain where we drink the waters rises between two 
hanging hills, and is overshadowed with large trees, that give a 
freshness in the hottest time of the day. The provisions are 
all excellent, the fish of the lake being as large and well tasted 
as that of Geneva, and the mountains abounding in game, 
particularly blackcocks, which I never saw in any other part of 
Italy.” 


Lady Mary, though still corresponding with her husband, 
had clearly given up all idea of returning to England or of 
Montagu joining her abroad. She was quite content with her 
state, which, after all, so far as we know, was her own choice. 
She took a house at Lovere, and interested herself in improving 
it and developing the grounds. 


“T have been these six weeks, and still am, at my dairy- 
house, which joins to my garden ”’ (she wrote to her daughter in 
July, 1748). ‘‘I believe I have already told you it is a long 
mile from the castle, which is situated in the midst of a very 
large village, once a considerable town, part of the walls still 
remaining, and has not vacant ground enough about it to make 
a garden, which is my greatest amusement, it being now trouble- 
some to walk, or even go in the chaise till the evening. I have 
fitted up in this farm-house a room for myself—that is to say, 
strewed the floor with rushes, covered the chimney with moss 
and branches, and adorned the room with basins of earthen- 
ware (which is made here to great perfection) filled with flowers, 
and put in some straw chairs, and a couch bed, which is my 
whole furniture. This spot of ground is so beautiful, I am 
afraid you will scarce credit the description, which, however, I 


276 Lady Mary Wortley Montagu : 


can assure you, shall be very literal, without any embellishment 
from imagination. It is on a bank, forming a kind of penin- 
sula, raised from the river Oglio fifty feet, to which you may 
descend by easy stairs cut in the turf, and either take the air on 
the river, which is as large as the Thames at Richmond, or by 
walking [in] an avenue two hundred yards on the side of it, you 
find a wood of a hundred acres, which was all ready cut into 
walks and ridings when I took it. I have only added fifteen 
bowers in different views, with seats of turf. They were easily 
made, here being a large quantity of underwood, and a great 
number of wild vines, which twist to the top of the highest 
trees, and from which they make a very good sort of wine they 
call brusco. I am now writing to you in one of these arbours, 
which is so thickly shaded, the sun is not troublesome, even at 
noon. Another is on the side of the river, where I have made a 
camp kitchen, that I may take the fish, dress, and eat it 
immediately, and at the same time see the barks, which ascend 
or descend every day to or from Mantua, Guastalla, or Pont de 
Vie, all considerable towns. This little wood is carpeted, in 
their succeeding seasons, with violets and strawberries, in- 
habited by a nation of nightingales, and filled with game of all 
kinds, excepting deer and wild boar, the first being unknown 
here, and not being large enough for the other. 

“My garden was a plain vineyard when it came into my 
hands not two years ago, and it is, with a small expense, turned 
into a garden that (apart from the advantage of the climate) I 
like better than that of Kensington. The Italian vineyards are 
not planted like those in France, but in clumps, fastened to 
trees planted in equal ranks (commonly fruit-trees), and con- 
tinued in festoons from one to another, which I have turned 
into covered galleries of shade, that I can walk in the heat 
without being incommoded by it. I have made a dining-room 
of verdure, capable of holding a table of twenty covers; the 
whole ground is three hundred and seventeen feet in length, and 
two hundred in breadth. You see it is far from large; but so 
prettily disposed (though I say it), that I never saw a more 





Her Life and Letters 79 i 


agreeable rustic garden, abounding with all sort of fruit, and 
produces a variety of wines. I would send you a piece [sic] 
if I did not fear the customs would make you pay too dear for 
ty 


Lady Mary was now in her sixtieth year, and asked for 
nothing better than peace and comfort. Her manner of life she 
described as being as regular as that of any monastery. She 
rose at six, and after an early breakfast worked in the garden. 
Then she visited the dairy and inspected her chickens—at one 
time she had two hundred of them—and her turkeys, geese, 
ducks, and peacocks, her bees and her silkworms. At eleven 
she read for an hour, and after an early dinner would take a 
siesta. Then she played picquet or whist with some friendly 
priests. In the evening she walked in the woods, or rode, or 
went on the lake. “‘I enjoy every amusement that solitude 
can afford,” she said. ‘‘ I confess 1 sometimes wish for a little 
conversation, but I reflect that the commerce of the world gives 
more uneasiness than pleasure, and quiet is all the hope that 
can reasonably be indulged at my age.” It would not have 
been Lady Mary if she had not kept a keen eye on the pence. 
She was delighted to be able to say in relation to her house and 
grounds that “all things have hitherto prospered under my 
care ; my bees and silkworms are doubled, and I am told that, 
without accidents, my capital will be so in two years’ time.”’ 
She enjoyed the more her evening now and her fish at dinner, 
because neither cost her anything. ‘‘ The fishery of this part 
of the river belongs to me; and my fisherman’s little boat 
(where I have a green lutestring awning) serves me for a barge. 
He and his sons are my rowers without expense, he being very 
well paid by the profit of the fish, which I give him on condition 
of having every day one dish for my table.” 

Age dealt gently with Lady Mary. At theageof sixty-two, 
she could say that her hearing and her memory were good, and 
her sight better than she had any right to expect. She had 
appetite enough to relish what she ate, slept as soundly as she 


278 | Lady Mary Wortley Montagu : 


had ever done, and had never a headache. Still, the fact was 
forced upon her that she was no longer so young as she had been 
—which unpleasing reflection she accepted philosophically 
enough. 


‘““] no more expect to arrive at the age of the Duchess of 
Marlborough * than to that of Methusalem ; neither do I desire 
it’ (she wrote to Lady Bute in the early spring of 1751). “I 
have long thought myself useless to the world. I have seen one 
generation pass away; and it is gone; for I think there are 
very few of those left that flourished in my youth. You will 
perhaps call these melancholy reflections: they are not so. 
There is a quiet after the abandoning of pursuits, something 
like the rest that follows a laborious day. I tell you this for 
your comfort. It was formerly a terrifying view to me, that 
I should one day be an old woman. I now find that Nature has 
provided pleasures for every state. Those are only unhappy 
who will not be contented with what she gives, but strive to 
break through her laws, by affecting a perpetuity of youth 
which appears to me as little desirable at present as the babies 
do to you, that were the delight of your infancy.” 


She reverted to the same subject when writing to her 
husband a month or two later : 


“T can no longer resist the desire I have to know what is 
become of my son. I have long suppressed it, from a belief 
that if there was anything of good to be told, you would not 
fail to give me the pleasure of hearing it. I find it now grows 
so much upon me, that whatever I am to know, I think it would 
be easier for me to support, than the anxiety I suffer from my 
doubts. I beg to be informed, and prepare myself for the 
worst, with all the philosophy I have. At my time of life 
I ought to be detached from a world which I am soon to leave ; 


* The Duchess of Marlborough was born on May 29, 1660, and died 
on October 18, 1744. 





Her Life and Letters 279 


to be totally so is a vain endeavour, and perhaps there is 
vanity in the endeavour : while we are human, we must submit 
to human infirmities, and suffer them in mind as well as body. 
All that reflection and experience can do is to mitigate, we can 
never extinguish, our passions. I call by that name every 
sentiment that is not founded upon reason, and own I cannot 
justify to mine the concern I feel for one who never gave me 
any view of satisfaction. 

“This is too melancholy a subject to dwell upon. You 
compliment me on the continuation of my spirits: ’tis true, I 
try to maintain them by every art I can, being sensible of the 
terrible consequences of losing them. Young people are too 
apt to let theirs sink on any disappointment.” 


There was, in 1751, some extraordinary incident in the life 
of Lady Mary, the true history of which has never been made 
public. 


‘ Pray tell me,’’ Horace Walpole wrote to Sir Horace Mann 
on August 31 of that year, “ if you know anything of Lady Mary 
Wortley: we have an obscure history here of her being in 
durance in the Brescian or the Bergamasco: that a young fellow 
that she set out with keeping has taken it into his head to keep 
her close prisoner, not permitting her to write or receive any 
letters but which he sees: he seems determined, if her husband 
should die, not to lose her, as the Count [Richcourt] did Lady 
Oxford.” 


No reply to this letter reached Walpole, but his insatiable 
curiosity would not accept this as a check, and he wrote again 
on October 14: ‘‘ Did you ever receive the question | asked 
you about Lady Mary Wortley’s being confined by a lover that 
she keeps somewhere in the Brescian? I long to know the 
particulars.”’ 

At the time of this incident Lady Mary was in her sixty- 
second year. It is possible, but extremely improbable, 





280 Lady Mary Wortley Montagu : 


therefore, that Lady Mary should have taken a young man into 
keeping. Horace Walpole may always be trusted to make the 
best of arumour. Still, it may be stated, on the authority of 
Wright, that among Lady Mary’s papers there was found a 
long account of the matter, written in Italian. In this she 
mentioned that for some time she had been forcibly detained in 
a country house belonging to an Italian Count and occupied by 
him and his mother. This paper, it is further mentioned, seems 
to have been submitted to a lawyer for his opinion or for pro- 
duction in acourt oflaw. It may be, of course, that Lady Mary 
did, to some extent, adopt the young man, who thought that 
by keeping possession of her person he might be able to extort 
money from her. 

Not long after this business, in fact, in February, 1752, 
Lady Mary was reporting that she was well enough in health. 
She had been reading Coventry’s Pompey the Little, and 
tells her daughter that she saw herself in the character of Mrs. 
Qualmsick : 


“ You will be surprised at this, no Englishwoman being so 
free from vapours, having never in my life complained of low 
spirits or weak nerves ; but our resemblance is very strong in 
the fancied loss of appetite, which I have been silly enough to 
be persuaded into by the physician of this place. He visits me 
frequently, as being one of the most considerable men in the 
parish, and is a grave, sober thinking great fool, whose solemn 
appearance, and deliberate way of delivering his sentiments 
gives them an air of good sense, though they are often the 
most injudicious that ever were pronounced. By perpetual 
telling me I eat so little, he is amazed I am able to subsist, he 
had brought me to be of his opinion; and I began to be 
seriously uneasy at it. This useful treatise has roused me into 
a recollection of what I eat yesterday, and do almost every day 
thesame. I wake generally about seven, and drink half a pint 
of warm asses’ milk, after which I sleep two hours ; as soon as 
I am risen, I constantly take three cups of milk coffee, and 





Her Life and Letters 281 


two hours after that a large cup of milk chocolate: two hours 
more brings my dinner, where I never fail swallowing a good 
dish (I don’t mean plate) of gravy soup, with all the bread, 
roots, &c., belonging to it. I then eat a wing and the whole 
body of a large fat capon, and a veal sweetbread, concluding 
with a competent quantity of custard, and some roasted chest- 
nuts. At five in the afternoon I take another dose of asses’ 
milk; and for supper twelve chestnuts (which would weigh 
twenty-four of those in London), one new laid egg, and a hand- 
some porringer of white bread and milk. With this diet, not- 
withstanding the menaces of my wise doctor, I am now 
convinced I am in no danger of starving; and am obliged to 
Little Pompey for this discovery.” 


Two years later, however, when she was in her sixty-fifth 
year, Lady Mary found herself far from well. In April of that 
year, she told her daughter: ‘‘ My time is wholly dedicated to 
the care of a decaying body, and endeavouring, as the old song 
says, to grow wiser and better, as my strength wears away.’ 
Shortly after, she was taken seriously unwell at Gottolengo. 
When she had recovered she, always interested in medical 
science, sent Lady Bute a full account of her illness and of the 
extraordinary physician from the neighbouring village of 
Lovere. 


‘““ Soon after I wrote my last letter to my dear child, I was 
seized with so violent a fever, accompanied with so many bad 
symptoms, my life was despaired of by the physician of Gotto- 
lengo, and I prepared myself for death with as much resigna- 
tion as that circumstance admits: some of my neighbours 
without my knowledge, sent express for the doctor of this 
place, whom I have mentioned to you formerly as having un- 
common secrets. I was surprised to see him at my bedside. 
He declared me in great danger, but did not doubt my recovery, 
if I was wholly under his care ; and his first prescription was 
transporting me hither ; the other physician asserted positively 





282 Lady Mary Wortley Montagu : 





I should die on the road. It has always been my opinion that 
it is a matter of the utmost indifference where we expire, and 
I consented to be removed. My bed was placed on a bancard ; 
my servants followed in chaises ; and in this equipage I set out. 
I bore the first day’s journey of fifteen miles without any 
visible alteration. The doctor said, as 1 was not worse, I was 
certainly better ; and the next day proceeded twenty miles to 
Iséo, which is at the head of this lake. I lay each night at 
noblemen’s houses, which were empty. My cook, with my 
physician, aways preceded two or three hours, and I found my 
chamber, with all necessaries, ready prepared with the exactest 
attention. I was put into a bark in my litter bed, and in three 
hours arrived here. My spirits were not at all wasted (I think 
rather raised) by the fatigueof my journey. I drank the water 
next morning, and, with a few doses of my physician’s pre- 
scription, in three days found myself in perfect heaJth, which 
appeared almost a miracle to all that saw me. You may 
imagine I am willing to submit to the orders of one that I must 
acknowledge the instrument of saving my life, though they are 
not entirely conformable to my will and pleasure. He has sen- 
tenced me to a long continuance here, which, he says, is abso- 
lutely necessary to the confirmation of my health, and would 
persuade me that my illness has been wholly owing to my omis- 
sion of drinking the waters these two years past. I dare not 
contradict him, and must own he deserves (from the various 
surprising cures I have seen) the name given to him in this 
country of the miraculous man. Both his character and 
practice are so singular, I cannot forbear giving you some 
account of them. He will not permit his patients to have either 
surgeon or apothecary: he performs all the operations of the 
first with great dexterity ; and whatever compounds he gives, 
he makes in his own house: those are very few; the juice of 
herbs, and these waters, being commonly his sole prescriptions. 
He has very little learning, and professes drawing all his know- 
ledge from experience, which he possesses, perhaps, in a greater 
degree than any other mortal, being the seventh doctor of his 





Her Life and Letters 283 


family in a direct line. His forefathers have all of them left 
journals and registers solely for the use of their posterity, 
none of them having published anything ; and he has recourse 
to these manuscripts on every difficult case, the veracity of 
which, at least, is unquestionable. His vivacity is prodigious; 
and he is indefatigable in his industry: but what most dis- 
tinguishes him is a disinterestedness I never saw in any other : 
he is as regular in his attendance on the poorest peasant, from 
whom he never can receive one farthing, as on the richest of the 
nobility ; and, whenever he is wanted, will climb three or four 
miles in the mountains, in the hottest sun, or heaviest rain, 
where a horse cannot go, to arrive at a cottage, where, if their 
condition requires it, he does not only give them advice and 
medicines gratis, but bread, wine, and whatever is needful. 
There never passes a week without one or more of these 
expeditions. His last visit is generally to me. I often see 
him as dirty and tired as a foot post, having eat nothing all 
day but a rojl or two that he carries in his pocket, yet blest 
with such a perpetual flow of spirits, he is always gay to a 
degree above cheerfulness. There is a peculiarity in his 
character that I hope will incline you to forgive my drawing it.”’ 


It was probably by the advice of her physician that Lady 
Mary decided to make Lovere her headquarters. He prescribed 
taking the waters there andalongrest. Lovere wasa dull place, 
visitors coming only during the water-drinking season. The 
plague that overran Europe in 1626 had ravaged it: the poor 
were almost destroyed, and the rich deserted it. A few of the 
ancient palaces had been turned into lodging-houses ; the rest 
were in ruinous condition. Lady Mary bought one of the 
palaces. 


“T see you lift up your eyes in wonder at my indiscretion. 
I beg you to hear my reasons before you condemn me. In my 
infirm state of health the unavoidable noise of a public lodging is 
very disagreeable ; and here is no private one: secondly, and 





284 Lady Mary Wortley Montagu : 


chiefly, the whole purchase is but one hundred pounds, with a 
very pretty garden in terraces down to the water, and a court 
behind the house. It is founded on a rock, and the walls so 
thick, they will probably remain as long as the earth. It is 
true, the apartments are in most tattered circumstances, with- 
out doors or windows. The beauty of the great saloon gained 
my affection: it is forty-two feet in length by twenty-five, pro- 
portionably high, opening into a balcony of the same length, 
with marble balusters: the ceiling and flooring are in good 
repair, but I have been forced to the expense of covering the 
wall with new stucco; and the carpenter is at this minute 
taking measure of the windows, in order to make frames for 
sashes. The great stairs are in such a declining way, it would 
be a very hazardous exploit to mount them: I never intend to 
attempt it. The state bedchamber shall also remain for the 
sole use of the spiders that have taken possession of it, along 
with the grand cabinet, and some other pieces of magnificence, 
quite useless to me, and which would cost a great deal to 
make habitable. I have fitted up six rooms, with lodgings for 
five servants, which are all I ever will have in this place; and 
I am persuaded that I could make a profit if I would part with 
my purchase, having been very much befriended in the sale, 
which was by auction, the owner having died without children, 
and I believe he had never seen this mansion in his life, it 
having stood empty from the death of his grandfather. The 
governor bid for me, and nobody would bid against him. Thus 
I am become a citizen of Lovere, to the great joy of the inhabi- 
tants, not (as they would pretend) from their respect for my 
person, but I perceive they fancy I shall attract all the travelling 
English ; and, to say the truth, the singularity of the place is 
well worth their curiosity ; but, as I have no correspondents, 
I may be buried here fifty years, and nobody know anything of 
the matter.” 


Lady Mary found great pleasure in her correspondence. 
It was one of the occupations with which she solaced her 





Her Life and Letters 285 


loneliness, and she was never more happy than when she had 
an exciting story to set down, for she could set it down with the 
ease of a Walpole and an individual touch that was all her own: 


“T was quietly reading in my closet, when I was inter- 
rupted by the chambermaid of the Signora Laura Bono, who 
flung herself at my feet, and, in an agony of sobs and tears, 
begged me, for the love of the holy Madonna, to hasten to her 
master’s house, where the two brothers would certainly murder 
one another, if my presence did not stop their fury. I was very 
much surprised, having always heard them spoke of as a pattern 
of fraternal union. However, I made all possible speed thither, 
without staying for hoods or attendance. I was soon there 
(the house touching my garden wall), andwas directed to the bed- 
chamber by the noise of oaths and execrations; but, on 
opening the door, was astonished to a degree you may better 
guess than I describe, by seeing the Signora Laura prostrate 
on the ground, melting in tears, and her husband standing 
with a drawn stiletto in his hand, swearing she should never 
see to-morrow’s sun. I was soon let into the secret. The 
good man, having business of consequence at Brescia, went 
thither early in the morning; but, as he expected his chief 
tenant to pay his rent that day, he left orders with his wife, 
that if the farmer, who lived two miles off, came himself, or 
sent any of his sons, she should take care to make him very 
welcome. She obeyed him with great punctuality, the money 
coming in the hand of a handsome lad of eighteen: she did 
not only admit him to her own table, and produce the best 
wine in the cellar, but resolved to give him chére entiére. 
While she was exercising this generous hospitality, the husband 
met midway the gentleman he intended to visit, who was 
posting to another side of the country ; they agreed on another 
appointment, and he returned to his own house, where, giving 
his horse to be led round to the stable by the servant that 
accompanied him, he opened his door with the passe-partout 
key, and proceeded to his chamber, without meeting anybody, 





286 Lady Mary Wortley Montagu : 


where he found his beloved spouse asleep on the bed with her 
gallant. The opening of the door waked them: the young 
fellow immediately leaped out of the window, which looked 
into the garden, and was open, it being summer, and escaped 
over the fields, leaving his breeches on a chair by the bedside— 
a very striking circumstance. In short, the case was such, | 
do not think the queen of fairies herself could have found an 
excuse, though Chaucer tells us she has made a solemn promise 
to leave none of her sex unfurnished with one, to all eternity. 
As to the poor criminal, she had nothing to say for herself but 
what I dare swear you will hear from your youngest daughter, 
if ever you catch her stealing of sweetmeats— Pray, pray, she 
would do so no more, and indeed it was the first time.’ This 
last article found no credit with me: I cannot be persuaded 
that any woman who had lived virtuous till forty (for such is 
her age) could suddenly be endowed with such consummate 
impudence, to solicit a youth at first sight, there being no 
probability, his age and station considered, that he would have 
made any attempt of that kind. I must confess 1 was wicked 
enough to think the unblemished reputation she had hitherto 
maintained, and did not fail to put us in mind of, was owing 
to a series of such frolics ; and to say truth, they are the only 
amours that can reasonably hope to remain undiscovered. 
Ladies that can resolve to make love thus extempore, may pass 
unobserved, especially if they can content themselves with low 
life, where fear may oblige their favourites to secrecy: there 
wants only a very lewd constitution, a very bad heart, and a 
moderate understanding, to make this conduct easy: and I do 
not doubt it has been practised by many prudes beside her I 
am now speaking of. You may be sure I did not communicate 
these reflections. The first word I spoke was to desire Signor 
Carlo to sheathe his poniard, not being pleased with its glitter- 
ing: he did so very readily, begging my pardon for not having 
done it onmy first appearance, saying he did not know what 
he did, and indeed he had the countenance and gesture of a man 
distracted. I did not endeavour a defence; that seemed 


Her Life and Letters 287 


to me impossible ; but represented to him, as well as I could, 
the crime of a murder, which, if he could justify before men, 
was still a crying sin before God ; the disgrace he would bring 
on himself and posterity, and irreparable injury he would do 
his eldest daughter, a pretty girl of fifteen, that I knew he was 
extremely fond of. I added, that if he thought it proper to 
part from his lady, he might easily find a pretext for it some 
months hence; and that it was as much his interest as hers to 
conceal this affair from the knowledge of the world. I could 
not presently make him taste these reasons, and was forced to 
stay there near five hours (almost from five to ten at night) 
before I durst leave them together, which I would not do till 
he had sworn in the most serious manner he would make no 
future attempt on her life. I was content with his oath, know- 
ing him to be very devout, and found I was not mistaken. 
How the matter was made up between them afterwards I know 
not ; but it is now two years since it happened, and all appear- 
ances remaining as if it had never been. ‘The secret is in very 
few hands ; his brother, being at that time at Brescia, I believe 
knows nothing of it to this day. The chambermaid and myself 
have preserved the strictest silence, and the lady retains the 
satisfaction of insulting all her acquaintance on the foundation 
of a spotless character, that only she can boast in the parish, 
where she is most heartily hated, from these airs of impertinent 
virtue, and another very essential reason, being the best 
dressed woman among them, though one of the plainest in 
her figure. 

‘““ The discretion of the chambermaid in fetching me, which 
possibly saved her mistress’s life, and her taciturnity since, 
I fancy appear very remarkable to you, and is what would 
certainly never happen in England. The first part of her 
behaviour deserves great praise ; coming of her own accord, 
and inventing so decent an excuse for her admittance : but her 
silence may be attributed to her knowing very well that any 
servant that presumes to talk of his master will most certainly 
be incapable of talking at all in a short time, their lives being 





288 Lady Mary Wortley Montagu : 


entirely in the power of their superiors: I do not mean by law 
but by custom, which has full as much force. If one of them 
was killed, it would either never be inquired into at all, or very 
slightly passed over; yet it seldom happens, and I know no 
instance of it, which I think is owing to the great submission 
of domestics, who are sensible of their dependence, and the 
national temper not being hasty, and never inflamed by wine, 
drunkenness being a vice abandoned to the vulgar, and spoke 
of with greater detestation than murder, which is mentioned 
with as little concern as a drinking-bout in England, and is 
almost as frequent. It was extreme shocking to me at my first 
coming, and still gives me a sort of horror, though custom has 
in some degree familiarised it to my imagination. Robbery 
would be pursued with great vivacity, and punished with the 
utmost rigour, therefore is very rare, though stealing is in daily 
practice ; but as all the peasants are suffered the use of fire- 
arms, the slightest provocation is sufficient to shoot, and they 
see one of their own species lie dead before them with as little 
remorse aS a hare or a partridge, and, when revenge spurs 
them on, with much more pleasure. A dissertation on this 
subject would engage me in a discourse not proper for the post.” 


Lady Mary, being a prolific letter-writer, came under the 
suspicions of the Italian authorities, who carefully examined the 
correspondence—a fact that was only by a chance conversation 
revealed toher. ‘“ I think I now know why our correspondence 
is so miserably interrupted, and so many of my letters lost to 
and from England,” she wrote to her husband in October, 1753 ; 
“but I am no happier in the discovery than a man who has 
found out his complaints proceed from a stone in the kidneys ; 
I know the cause, but am entirely ignorant of the remedy, and 
must suffer my uneasiness with what patience I can.”’ 


‘An old priest made me a visit as I was folding my last 
packet to my daughter. Observing it to be large, he told me I 
had done a great deal of business that morning. I made 


Her Life and Letters 289 


answer, I had done no business at all; I had only wrote to my 
daughter on family affairs, or such trifles as make up women's 
conversation. He said gravely, people like your Excellenza do 
not use to write long letters upon trifles. I assured him, that 
if he understood English, I would let him read my letter. He 
replied, with a mysterious smile, if I did understand English, 
I should not understand what you have written, except you 
would give me the key, which I durst not presume to ask. 
What key? (said I, staring) there is not one cypher besides 
the date. He answered, cyphers were only used by novices in 
politics, and it was very easy to write intelligibly, under 
feigned names of persons and places, to a correspondent, in 
such a manner as should be almost impossible to be understood 
by anybody else. 

‘Thus I suppose my innocent epistles are severely scrutin- 
ised : and when I talk of my grandchildren, they are fancied 
to represent all the potentates of Europe. This is very pro- 
voking. I confess there are good reasons for extraordinary 
caution at this juncture; but ’tis very hard I cannot pass for 
being as insignificant as I really am.” 


Lady Mary clearly was happy in Italy, and did not in the 
least hanker after the delights of London society, which in her 
earlier days she had so much enjoyed. 


‘By the account you give me of London, I think it very 
much reformed ; at least you have one sin the less, and it was 
a very reigning one in my time, I mean scandal: it must be 
literally reduced to a whisper, since the custom of living all 
together. I hope it has also banished the fashion of talking all 
at once, which was very prevailing when I was in town, and 
may perhaps contribute to brotherly love and unity, which was 
so much declined in my memory, that it was hard to invite six 
people that would not, by cold looks, or piquing reflections 
affront one another. I suppose parties are at an end, though I 
fear it is the consequence of the old almanac prophecy, 

T 


290 Lady Mary Wortley Montagu : 


‘“‘ Poverty brings peace’; and I fancy you really follow the 
French mode, and the lady keeps an assembly, that the assembly 
may keep the lady, and card money pay for clothes and equipage 
as well as cards and candles. I find I should be as solitary 
in London as J am here in the country, it being impossible for 
me to submit to live in a drum, which I think so far from a cure 
of uneasiness, that it is, in my opinion, adding one more to the 
heap. There areso many attached to humanity, ‘tis impossible 
to fly from them all; but experience has confirmed to me what 
I always thought), that the pursuit of pleasure will be ever 
attended with pain, and the study of ease be most certainly 
accompanied with pleasures. I have had this morning as much 
delight in a walk in the sun as ever I felt formerly in the crowded 
Mall, even when I imagined I had my share of the admiration of 
the place, which was generally soured before I slept by the 
informations of my female friends, who seldom failed to tell 
me, it was observed, I had showed an inch above my shoe- 
heels, or some other criticism of equal weight, which was 
construed affectation, and utterly destroyed all the satisfaction 
my vanity had given me. I have now no other but in my little 
houswifery, which is easily gratified in this country, where, 
by the help of my receipt-book, I make a very shining figure 
among my neighbours, by the introduction of custards, cheese- 
cakes, and minced pies, which were entirely unknown to these 
parts, and are received with universal applause ; and I have 
reason to believe will preserve my memory even to future ages, 
particularly by the art of butter-making, in which I have so 
improved them, that they now make as good as in any part of 
England.”’ 


Lady Mary made the acquaintance in 1758 of Sir James 
Steuart,* and his wife, Lady Frances, the eldest daughter of the 
Earl of Wemyss and sister of the Jacobite Lord Elcho. Steuart, 











* Sir James Steuart (1712-1780), in 1773, on inheriting an estate 
from a relative, took the additional surname of Denham. He was the 
author of works on currency and political economy. 


Her Life and Letters 291 








when making the grand tour, had met the exiled Stuarts at 
Rome, and had become attached to their cause. When the 
Young Pretender landed in Scotland in 1745, Steuart threw 
in his lot with him. On his master’s business he went to Paris, 
and was abroad when Culloden was fought. When an Act of 
Oblivion was passed in 1748 he was exempted by name, and, 
therefore, his return was at the time impossible. He and his 
wife wandered about the Continent, and it was at Venice that 
they encountered Lady Mary, who was delighted with them. 
“T was charmed to find a man of uncommon sense and learn- 
ing, and a lady that without beauty is more admirable than the 
fairest of her sex,’’ she wrote enthusiastically to her daughter. 
“TI offered them all the little good offices in my power, and 
invited them to supper ; upon which our wise Minister * has 
discovered that I am in the interest of popery and slavery. 
As he has often said the same thing of Mr. Pitt, it would give me 
no mortification, if I did not apprehend that his fertile imagina- 
tion may support this wise idea by such circumstances as may 
influence those that do not know me. It is very remarkable 
that after having suffered all the rage of that party at Avignon 
for my attachment to the present reigning family, I should be 
accused here of favouring rebellion, when I hoped all our odious 
diversions were forgotten.”’ 

Lady Mary was anxious that nothing she did should reflect 
upon her daughter or in any way affect Lord Bute. “I am 
afraid you may think some imprudent behaviour of mine has 
occasioned all this ridiculous persecution [by the Resident]”’ 
she wrote to them in May, 1758. “I can assure you I have 
always treated him and his family with the utmost civility, 
and am now retired to Padua, to avoid the comments that will 
certainly be made on his extraordinary conduct towards me. I 
only desire privacy and quiet, and am very well contented to 
be without visits, which oftener disturb than amuse me. My 
single concern is the design he has formed of securing (as he 





* The British Resident at Venice at this time was John Murray. 





292 Lady Mary Wortley Montagu : 


calls it) my effects immediately on my decease; if they ever 
fall into his hands, I am persuaded they will never arrive entire 
into yours, which is a very uneasy thought to me.”’ 

Although not primarily interested in politics, Lady Mary had 
met so many politicians that she was naturally eager to hear 
what was going on, and the fact that her son-in-law, Lord Bute, 
was active in that department of life made her follow ministerial 
events in England so closely as possible. “Istay here, though 
I am on many accounts better pleased with Padua,” she wrote 
to her daughter from Venice, January 20, 1758. ‘“‘ Our great 
minister, the Resident, treats me as oneof the Opposition. I 
am inclined to laugh rather than be displeased at his political 
airs; yet, as | am among strangers they are disagreeable ; 
and, could I have foreseen them, would have settled in some 
other part of the world: but I have taken leases of my houses, 
been at much pains and expense in furnishing them, and am no 
longer of an age to make long journeys.”’ 

Pitt’s Coalition Ministry, formed in June, 1757, in which 
Pitt and Lord Holdernesse were Secretaries of State, the Duke of 
Newcastle First Lord of the Treasury, Legge Chancellor of 
the Exchequer, and Lord Granville, Lord Temple, Sir Robert 
Henley, the Duke of Devonshire, the Duke of Bedford, and 
Henry Fox held office, moved Lady Mary to merriment. 


“Your account of the changes in ministerial affairs do not 
surprise me ; but nothing could be more astonishing than their 
all coming together ”’ (she wrote to Lady Bute). “It puts me 
in mind of a friend of mine who had a large family of favourite 
animals ; and not knowing how to convey them to his country- 
house in separate equipages, he ordered a Dutch mastiff, a cat 
and her kittens, a monkey, and a parrot, all to be packed up 
together in one large hamper, and sent by a waggon. One may 
easily guess how this set of company made their journey ; and 
I have never been able to think of the present compound 
ministry without the idea of barking, scratching, and screaming. 
’Tis too ridiculous a one, lown, for the gravity of their characters, 





Her Life and Letters 293 


and still more for the situation the kingdom is in; for as 
much as one may encourage the love of laughter, ’tis im- 
possible to be indifferent to the welfare of one’s native 
country.” 


The Resident was, so far as Lady Mary was concerned, an 
ill-conditioned fellow. She asked him once or twice for the 
English papers, but the reply made, with intention, on each 
occasion was that they were engaged. ‘Since the Ministry 
of Mr. Pitt,’”’ she remarked, “‘ he is so desirous to signalise his 
zeal for the contrary faction, he is perpetually saying ridiculous 
things, to manifest his attachment ; and as he looks upon me 
(nobody knows why) to be the friend of a man I never saw, he 
has not visited me once this winter. The misfortune is not 
great.” Lady Mary was amused at being mistaken for a 
politician. “‘I have often been so, though I ever thought 
politics so far removed from my sphere. I cannot accuse my- 
self of dabbling in them, even when I heard them talked over in 
all companies ; but, as the old song says, 


‘Tho’ through the wide world we should range, 
‘Tis in vain from our fortune to fly.’ ”’ 


Lady Mary always cherished affection and respect for her 
son-in-law, Lord Bute. He had been since 1747 a favourite 
with Frederick, Prince of Wales, who in 1750 appointed him 
a Lord of his Bedchamber. When Frederick died in the 
following year Bute had established his popularity with the 
Princess, who, in 1756, secured his appointment as Groom of the 
Stole. ‘‘ I have something to mention that I believe will be 
agreeable to you,’’ Edward Wortley Montagu wrote to his wife 
at this time ; “‘ I mean some particulars relating to Lord Bute. 
He stood higher in the Prince of Wales’s favour than any man. 
His attendance was frequent at Leicester House, where this 
young Prince has resided, and since his father’s death has con- 
tinued without intermission, till new officers were to be placed 
under him. It is said that another person was to be Groom of 


204 Lady Mary Wortley Montagu : 
the Stole, but that the Prince’s earnest request was complied 
with in my Lord’s favour. It is supposed that the governors, 
preceptors, etc., who were about him before will now be set 
aside, and that my Lord is now the principal adviser.’’ Neither 
Montagu nor his wife in their published correspondence make 
any allusion to the scandal current about the intimate relations 
of the Princess and Lord Bute, though it was so widely spread 
it is almost impossible it should not have come to the ears of 
one or other of them. 

On the accession of George III] Bute was sworn a member 
of the Privy Council, and in November, 1760, appointed Groom 
of the Stole and First Gentleman of the Bedchamber. His 
influence with the young King was paramount. “I pity Lady 
Bute,’’ Walpole wrote to Sir Horace Mann on January 27, 1761, 
“her mother will sell to whoever does not know her, all kinds of 
promises and reversions, bestow lies gratis and wholesale, and 
make so much mischief, that they will be forced to discard her 
in three months, which will go to Lady Bute’s heart, who is one 
of the best and most sensible women in the world; and who, 
educated by such a mother, has never made a false step.”” As 
a matter of fact, the only request known to be made by Lady 
Mary was to ask Lord Bute, through her daughter, to take care 
that Sir James Steuart’s name was not excluded in the Act of 
Indemnity. It is, however, true that there is the following 
statement in the Diaries of the Right Hon. William Windham, 
under the date of November 25, 1772, which is given here for 
what it is worth. ‘‘ Mr. Montagu told me this evening about 
Lady Mary Wortley Montagu, that at her death, ‘ A note of his 
was found among her papers for one thousand guineas,’ which 
had been given her by a gentleman of Ireland as the premium for 
some honours to be received through her interest. The honours 
stipulated for were not obtained before her death, and the 
gentleman upon representation of the story to the family 
recovered the note which she had deposited by agreement in a 
particular drawer shewn to him. It may reasonably be sup- 
posed that this was not the first instance of her accepting money 





Her Life and Letters 295 


on those conditions, and that much of Lord Bute’s interest has 
been employed in her service.” 


As Lady Mary advanced in the sixties of her life, she looked 
upon the world with the eyes of a vast experience, and found it 
more sad than she had thought it in youth or middle age. 
Vamitas vamtatum was the text of many a homily that she 
delivered, and a certain sadness replaced the sense of malice 
that had once possessed her. Once more than aggressive, now 
she had had bestowed upon her in some degree that gift of 
understanding that engenders sympathy. As she grew older 
she grew more wise, and was anxious to impart her wisdom, 
especially to her daughter, for her benefit or for that of her 
daughter’s children. 


“ How important is the charge of youth ! and how useless all 
the advantages of nature and fortune without a well-turned 
mind! I have lately heard of a very shining instance of this 
truth, from two gentlemen (very deserving ones they seem to 
be) who have had the curiosity to travel into Moscovy, and 
now return to England with Mr. Archer. I inquired after my 
' old acquaintance Sir Charles [Hanbury] Williams, who I hear 
is much broken, both in spirits and constitution. How happy 
that man might have been, if there had been added to his 
natural and acquired endowments a dash of morality! If he 
had known how to distinguish between false and true felicity ; 
and, instead of seeking to increase an estate already too large, 
and hunting after pleasures that have made him rotten and 
ridiculous, he had bounded his desires of wealth, and follow 
the dictates of his conscience. His servile ambition has gained 
him two yards of red ribbon, and an exile into a miserable 
country, where there is no society and so little taste, that | 
believe he suffers under a dearth of flatterers. This is said 
for the use of your growing sons, whom I hope no golden 
temptations will induce to marry women they cannot love, or 
comply with measures they do not approve. All the happiness 





296 Lady Mary Wortley Montagu : 


this world can afford is more within reach than is generally 
supposed. Whoever seeks pleasure will undoubtedly find pain ; 
whoever will pursue ease will as certainly find pleasures. The 
world’s esteem is the highest gratification of human vanity ; 
and that is more easily obtained in a moderate fortune than an 
overgrown one, which is seldom possessed, never gained, with- 
out envy. I say esteem; for, as to applause, it is a youthful 
pursuit, never to be forgiven after twenty, and naturally 
succeeds the childish desire of catching the setting sun, which 
I can remember running very hard to do: a fine thing truly 
if it could be caught; but experience soon shows it to be 
impossible. A wise and honest man lives to his own heart, 
without that silly splendour that makes him a prey to knaves, 
and which commonly ends in his becoming one of the frater- 
nity. Iam very glad to hear Lord Bute’s decent economy sets 
him above anything of that kind. I wish it may become 
national. A collective body of men differs very little from a 
single man ; frugality is the foundation of generosity. I have 
often been complimented on the English heroism, who have 
thrown away so many millions, without any prospect of advan- 
tage to themselves, purely to succour a distressed princess. I 
never could hear these praises without some impatience ; they 
sounded to me like panegyrics made by the dependents on the 
Duke of Newcastle and poor Lord Oxford, bubbled when they 
were commended, and laughed at when undone. Some late 
events will, | hope, open our eyes: we shall see we are an island, 
and endeavour to extend our commerce rather than the Quixote 
reputation of redressing wrongs and placing diadems on heads 
that should be equally indifferent to us. When time has | 
ripened mankind into common sense, the name of conqueror 
will be an odious title. I could easily prove that, had the 
Spaniards established a trade with the Americans, they would 
have enriched their country more than by the addition of 
twenty-two kingdoms, and all the mines they now work—I do 
not say possess; since, though they are the proprietors, 
others enjoy the profit.”’ 





Her Life and Letters 207 


Lady Mary’s letters at this period of her life are so enter- 
taining that a few may well be inserted here for the sheer pleasure 
of reading them. 


To THE COUNTESS OF BUTE 
“Padua, September 30, 1757. 

‘“ Lord Bute has been so obliging as to let me know your safe 
delivery, and the birth of another daughter; may she be as 
meritorious in your eyes as youarein mine! I can wish nothing 
better to you both, though I have some reproaches to make 
you. Daughter! daughter! don’t call names ; you are always 
abusing my pleasures, which is what no mortal will bear. 
Trash, lumber, sad stuff, are the titles you give to my favourite 
amusement. If I called a white staff a stick of wood, a gold 
key gilded brass, and the ensigns of illustrious orders coloured 
strings, this may be philosophically true, but would be very ill 
received. We have all our playthings: happy are they that 
can be contented with those they can obtain: those hours 
are spent in the wisest manner, that can easiest shade the ills 
of life, and are lest productive of ill consequences. I think my 
time better employed in reading the adventures of imaginary 
people, than the Duchess of Marlborough’s, who passed the 
latter years of her life in paddling with her will, and contriving 
schemes of plaguing some, and extracting praise from others, 
to no purpose ; eternally disappointed, and eternally fretting. 
The active scenes are over at my age. I indulge, with all the 
art lcan, my taste forreading. If I would confine it to valuable 
books, they are almost as rare as valuable men. I must be 
content with what I can find. As I approach a second child- 
hood, I endeavour to enter into the pleasures of it. Your 
youngest son is, perhaps, at this very moment riding on a 
poker with great delight, not at all regretting that it is not a gold 
one, and much less wishing it an Arabian horse, which he would 
not know how to manage. I am reading an idle tale, not ex. 
pecting wit or truth in it, and am very glad it is not metaphysics 
to puzzle my judgment, or history to mislead my opinion 


298 Lady Mary Wortley Montagu : 


He fortifies his health by exercise ; I calm my cares by oblivion. 
The methods may appear low to busy people; but, if he im- 
proves his strength, and I forget my infirmities, we attain very 
desirable ends.”’ 


To THE COUNTESS OF BUTE 
“Venice, November 8, 1758. 


ce 


. . . some few months before Lord W. Hamilton married, 
there appeared a foolish song, said to be wrote by a poetical 
great lady, who I really think was the character of Lady Ara- 
bella, in The Female Quixote (without the beauty): you may 
imagine such a conduct, at court, made her superlatively 
ridiculous. Lady Delawarr, a woman of great merit, with 
whom I lived in much intimacy, showed this fine performance 
to me: we were very merry in supposing what answer Lord 
William would make to these passionate addresses ; she begged 
me to say something for a poor man, who had nothing to say 
for himself. I wrote, extempore, on the back of the song, some 
stanzas that went perfectly well to the tune. She promised 
they should never appear as mine, and faithfully kept her word. 
By what accident they have fallen into the hands of that thing 
Dodsley, I know not, but he has printed them as addressed, by 
me, to a very contemptible puppy, and my own words as his 
answer. I do not believe either Job or Socrates ever had such 
a provocation. You will tell me, it cannot hurt me with any 
acquaintance I ever had: itis true; but it is an excellent piece 
of scandal for the same sort of people that propagate, with 
success, that your nurse left her estate, husband, and family, 
to go with me to England ; and, then I turned her to starve, 
after defrauding her of God knows what. I thank God witches 
are out of fashion, or I should expect to have it deposed, by 
several credible witnesses, that I had been seen flying 
through the air on a broomstick, &c. Iam really sick with 
vexation.”’ 


RAN 


EAE T Ree 
Lene Se 


ciate es 


eS) 

cht BEEF. 

Vig tte 
Hi 





Mary, COUNTESS OF BUTE. 
p. 298 











Her Life and Letters 299 


To SIR JAMES STEUART 
“Venice, November 14, 1758. 

“ This letter will be solely to you, and I desire you will not 
communicate it to Lady Fanny: she is the best woman in the 
world, and I would by no means make her uneasy ; but there 
will be such strange things in it that the Talmud or the Reve- 
lations are not half so mysterious: what these prodigies 
portend, God knows ; but I never should have suspected half 
the wonders I see before my eyes, and am convinced of the 
necessity of the repeal of the witch act (as it is commonly 
called), I mean, to speak correctly, the tacit permission given 
to witches, so scandalous to all good Christians: though I 
tremble to think of it for my own interests. It is certain the 
British islands have always been strangely addicted to this 
diabolical intercourse, of which I dare swear you know many 
instances ; but since this public encouragement given to it, I 
am afraid there will not be an old woman in the nation entirely 
free from suspicion. The devil rages more powerfully than ever : 
you will believe me, when I assure you the great and learned 
English minister is turned methodist, several duels have been 
fought in the Place of St. Marc for the charms of his excellent 
lady, and I have been seen flying in the air in the figure of 
Julian Cox, which history is related with so much candour 
and truth by the pious pen of Joseph Glanville, chaplain to 
K. Charles. I know you young rakes make a jest of all those 
things, but I think no good lady can doubt of a relation so well 
attested. She was about seventy years old (very near my age), 
and the whole sworn to before Judge Archer, 1663: very well 
worth reading, but rather too long for a letter. You know 
(wretch that I am) ’tis one of my wicked maxims to make 
the best of a bad bargain; and I have said publicly that 
every period of life has its privileges, and that even the most 
despicable creatures alive may find some pleasures. Now 
observe this comment ; who are the most despicable creatures ? 
Certainly, old women. What pleasure can an old woman 
take? Only witchcraft. I think this argument as clear as any 


300 Lady Mary Wortley Montagu : 


of the devout Bishop of Cloyne’s metaphysics: this being 
decided in a full congregation of saints, only such atheists as 
you and Lady Fanny can deny it. I own all the facts, as 
many witches have done before me, and go every night in a 
public manner astride upon a black cat to a meeting where you 
are suspected to appear: this last article is not sworn to, it 
being doubtful in what manner our clandestine midnight corre- 
spondence is carried on. Some think it treasonable, others 
lewd (don’t tell Lady Fanny) ; but all agree there was some- 
thing very odd and unaccountable in such sudden likings. I 
confess, as I said before, it is witchcraft. You won’t wonder I 
do not sign (notwithstanding all my impudence) such dangerous 
truths: who knows the consequence? The devil is said to 
desert his votaries.”’ 


To Sir JAMES STEUART 
“Venice, January 13, 1759. 

“| have indulged myself some time with day-dreams of 
the happiness I hope to enjoy this summer in the conversation 
of Lady Fanny and Sir James S.; but I hear such frightful 
stories of precipices and hovels during the whole journey, 
I begin to fear there is no such pleasure allotted me in the 
book of fate: the Alps were once molehills in my sight when 
they interposed between me and the slightest inclination ; now 
age begins to freeze, and brings with it the usual train of melan- 
choly apprehensions. Poor human-kind! We always march 
blindly on; the fire of youth represents to us all our wishes 
possible; and, that over, we fall into despondency that pre- 
vents even easy enterprises: a store in winter, a garden in 
summer, bounds all our desires, or at least our undertakings. 
If Mr. Steuart would disclose all his imaginations, I dare swear 
he has some thoughts of emulating Alexander or Demosthenes, 
perhaps both: nothing seems difficult at his time of life, 
everything at mine. I am very unwilling, but am afraid I 
must submit to the confinement of my boat and my easy-chair, 
and go no farther than they can carry me. Why are our views 


Her Life and Letters 301 


so extensive and our powers so miserably limited? This is 
among the mysteries which (as you justly say) will remain ever 
unfolded to our shallow capacities. I am much inclined to 
think we are no more free agents than the queen of clubs when 
she victoriously takes prisoner the knave of hearts ; and all our 
efforts (when we rebel against destiny) as weak as a card that 
sticks to a glove when the gamester is determined to throw it 
on the table. Let us then (which is the only true philosophy) 
be contented with our chance, and make the best of that bad 
bargain of being born in this vile planet ; where we may find, 
however (God be thanked), much to laugh at, though little to 
approve. 

“T confess I delight extremely in looking on men in that 
light. How many thousands trample under foot honour, ease, 
and pleasure, in pursuit of ribands of certain colours, dabs of 
embroidery on their clothes, and gilt wood carved behind their 
coaches in a particular figure? Others breaking their hearts 
till they are distinguished by the shape and colour of their 
hats ; and, in general, all people earnestly seeking what they 
do not want, while they neglect the real blessings in their 
possession—I mean the innocent gratification of their senses, 
which is all we can properly call our own. For my part, I will 
endeavour to comfort myself for the cruel disappointment I 
find in renouncing Tubingen, by eating some fresh oysters on 
the table. I hope you are sitting down with dear Lady F. to 
some admirable red partridges, which I think are the growth 
of that country. Adieu! Live happy, and be not unmindful 
of your sincere distant friend, who will remember you in the 
tenderest manner while there is any such faculty as memory in 
the machine called.”’ 


To THE COUNTESS OF BUTE 
“Venice, May 22, 17509. 
. . . Building is the general weakness of old people; I 
have had a twitch of it myself, though certainly it is the highest 
absurdity, and as sure a proof of dotage as pink-coloured 


ce 


302 Lady Mary Wortley Montagu 


ribands, or even matrimony. Nay, perhaps, there is more to 
be said in defence of the last ; I mean in a childless old man ; 
he may prefer a boy born in his own house, though he knows it 
is not his own, to disrespectful or worthless nephews or nieces. 
But there is no excuse for beginning an edifice he can never 
inhabit, or probably see finished. The Duchess of Marlborough 
used to ridicule the vanity of it, by saying one might always live 
upon other people’s follies: yet you see she built the most 
ridiculous house I ever saw, since it really is not habitable, 
from the excessive damps; so true it is, the things that we 
would do, those do we not, and the things we would not do, 
those do we daily. 1 feel in myself a proof of this assertion, 
being much against my will at Venice, though I own it is the only 
great town where I can properly reside, yet here I find so many 
vexations, that, in spite of all my philosophy and (what is more 
powerful) my phelgm, I am oftener out of humour than among 
my plants and poultry in the country. I cannot help being 
concerned at the success of iniquitous schemes, and grieve for 
oppressed merit. You, who see these things every day, think 
me as unreasonable, in making them matter of complaint, as if 
I seriously lamented the change of seasons. You should con- 
sider I have lived almost a hermit ten years, and the world is 
as new to me as to a country girl transported from Wales to 
Coventry. I know I ought to think my lot very good, that 
can boast of some sincere friends among strangers.” 


Old age will, in the long run, have its way. Lady Mary, as 
pleasantly loquacious as ever, found the manual labour of 
writing not always to be endured, and she tried the experiment 
of dictating her correspondence. 

“Thus far ’’ (she wrote to Sir James Steuart from Padua, 
July 19, 1759), “1 have dictated for the first time of my life, 
and perhaps it will be the last, for my amanuensis is not to be 
hired, and I despair of ever meeting with another. He is the 
first that could write as fast as I talk, and yet you see there are 
so many mistakes, it wants a comment longer than my letter to 








Her Life and Letters 303 


explain my insignificant meaning, and I have fatigued my poor 
eyes more with correcting it, than I should have done in 
scribbling two sheets of paper. You will think, perhaps, from 
this idle attempt, that I have some fluxion on my sight ; no 
such matter ; I have suffered myself to be persuaded by such 
sort of arguments as those by which people are induced to 
strict abstinence, or to take physic. Fear, paltry fear, founded 
on vapours rising from the heat, which is now excessive, and 
has so far debilitated my miserable nerves that I submit to a 
present displeasure, by way of precaution against a future evil, 
that possibly may never happen. I have this to say in my 
excuse, that the evil is of so horrid a nature, I own I feel no 
philosophy that could support me under it, and no mountain 
girl ever trembled more at one of Whitfield’s pathetic lectures 
than I do at the word blindness, though I know all the fine 
things that may be said for consolation in such a case: but I 
know, also, they would not operate on my constitution. ‘ Why, 
then’ (say my wise monitors), ‘will you persist in reading 
or writing seven hours in a day?’ ‘I am happy while I 
read and write.’ ‘Indeed, one would suffer a great deal to be 
happy,’ say the men, sneering; and the ladies wink at each 
other, and hold up their fans. A fine lady of three score had 
the goodness to add, ‘ At least, madam, you should use spec- 
tacles; I have used them myself these twenty years; I was 
advised to it by a famous oculist when I was fifteen. I am 
really of opinion that they have preserved my sight, notwith- 
standing the passion I always had both for reading and draw- 
ing’ This good woman, you must know, is half blind, and 
never read a larger volume than a newspaper. I will not 
trouble you with the whole conversation, though it would make 
an excellent scene in a farce; but after they had in the best 
bred way in the world convinced me that they thought I lied 
when I talked of reading without glasses, the foresaid matron 
obligingly said she should be very proud to see the writing I 
talked of, having heard me say formerly I had no correspon- 
dents but my daughter and Mr. Wortley. She was interrupted 


304 Lady Mary Wortley Montagu : 


by her sister, who said, simpering, ‘ You forgot Sir J. S.’ I 
took her up something short, I confess, and said in a dry stern 
tone, ‘Madam, I do write to Sir J. S. and will do it as long as 
he will permit that honour.’ This rudeness of mine occasioned 
a profound silence for some minutes, and they fell into a 
good-natured discourse of the ill consequences of too much 
application, and remembered how many apoplexies, gouts, and 
dropsies had happened amongst the hard students of their 
acquaintance. As I never studied anything in my life, and 
have always (at least from fifteen) thought the reputation of 
learning a misfortune to a woman, I was resolved to believe 
these stories were not meant at me: I grew silent in my turn, 
and took up a card that lay on a table, and amused myself with 
smoking it over a candle. In the mean time (as the song 
says), 
‘ Their tattles all run, as swift as the sun, 


Of who had won, and who was undone 
By their gaming and sitting up late.’ 


When it was observed I entered into none of these topics, I 
was addressed by an obliging lady, who pitied my stupidity. 
‘Indeed, madam, you should buy horses to that fine machine 
you have at Padua ; of what use is it standing in the portico ? ’ 
‘Perhaps,’ said another, wittily, “of as much use as a standing 
dish.’ A gaping schoolboy added with still more wit, ‘ I have 
seen at a country gentleman’s table a venison-pasty made of 
wood.’ I was not at all vexed by said schoolboy, not because 
he was (in more senses than one) the highest of the company, 
but knowing he did not mean to offend me. I confess (to my 
shame be it spoken) I was grieved at the triumph that appeared 
in the eyes of the king and queen of the company, the court 
being tolerably full. His majesty walked off early with the air 
befitting his dignity, followed by his train of courtiers, who, like 
courtiers, were laughing amongst themselves as they followed 
him: and I was left with the two queens, one of whom was 
making ruffles for the man she loved, and the other slopping tea 
for the good of her country. They renewed their generous 





—_ 


Her Life and Letters 305 


endeavours to set me right, and I (graceless beast that I am) 
take up the smoked card which lay before me, and with the 
corner of another wrote — 


If ever I one thought bestow 
On what such fools advise, 

May I be dull enough to grow 
Most miserably wise. 


And flung down the card on the table, and myself out of the 
room, in the most indecent fury. A few minutes on the cold 
water convinced me of my folly, and I went home as much 
mortified as my Lord E. when he has lost his last stake at 
hazard. Pray don’t think (if you can help it) this is an affecta- 
tion of mine to enhance the value of a talent I would be thought 
to despise ; as celebrated beauties often talk of the charms of 
good sense, having some reason to fear their mental qualities 
are not quite so conspicuous as their outside lovely form.— 
A propos of beauties : 


I know not why, but Heaven has sent this way 
A nymph, fair, kind, poetical, and gay ; 

And what is more (tho’ I express it dully), 

A noble, wise, right honourable cully : 

A soldier worthy of the name he bears, 

As brave and senseless as the sword he wears. 


“You will not doubt I am talking of a puppet-show ; and 
indeed so 1 am; but the figures (some of them) bigger than 
the life, and not stuffed with straw like those commonly shown 
at fairs. I will allow you to think me madder than Don 
Quixote when I confess I am governed by the que-dira-t-on of 
these things, though I remember whereof they are made, and 
know they are but dust. Nothing vexes me so much as that 
they are below satire. (Between you and me) I think there 
are but two pleasures permitted to mortal man, love and ven- 
geance ; both which are, in a peculiar manner, forbidden to us 
wretches who are condemned to petticoats. Even vanity itself, 
of which you daily accuse us, is the sin against the Holy Ghost 
not to be forgiven in this world or the next. 

U 








306 Lady Mary Wortley Montagu : 


Our sex’s weakness you expose and blame, 

Of every prating fop the common theme ; 

Yet from this weakness you suppose is due 
Sublimer virtue than your Cato knew. 

From whence is this unjust distinction shown ? 
Are we not formed with passions like your own ? 
Nature with equal fire our souls endued : 

Our minds as lofty, and as warm our blood. 
O’er the wide world your wishes you pursue, 
The change is justified by something new, | 
But we must sigh in silence and be true. 


“ How the great Dr. Swift would stare at this vile triplet ! 
And then what business have I to make apologies for Lady 
Vane, whom I never spoke to, because her life is writ by 
Dr. Smollett, whom I never saw? Because my daughter fell 
in love with Lord Bute, am I obliged to fall in love with the 
whole Scots nation? ’Tis certain I take their quarrels upon 
myself in a very odd way; and I cannot deny that (two or 
three dozen excepted) I think they make the first figure in all 
arts and sciences; even in gallantry, in spite of the finest 
gentlemen that have finished their education at Paris. 

“You will ask me what I mean by all this nonsense, after 
having declared myself an enemy to obscurity to such a degree 
that I do not forgive it to the great Lord Viscount Bolingbroke, 
who professes he studied it. I dare swear you will sincerely 
believe him when you read his celebrated works. I have got 
them for you, and intend to bring them. Oime! l’huomo. 
propone, Dio dispone. I hope you won’t think this dab of 
Italian, that slid involuntarily from my pen, an affectation like 
his Gallicisms, or a rebellion against Providence, in imitation 
of his lordship, who I never saw but once in my life: he then 
appeared in a corner of the drawing-room, in the exact similitude 
of Satan when he was soliciting the court of Heaven for leave 
to torment an honest man,” 





Her Life and Letters 307 


CHAPTER XVII 
LAST YEARS (1760-1762) 


Lady Mary writes the history of her own times—Her health—Death of 
Edward Wortley Montagu—His will—Lady Mary ponders the idea 
of returning to England—She leaves Italy—She is held up at 
Rotterdam—She reaches London—Horace Walpole visits her— 
Her last illness—Her fortitude—Her death—She leaves one guinea 
to her son. 


ONE of Lady Mary’s amusements towards the end of her life 
was writing the history of her own time. “It has been my 
fortune,”’ she said, “to have a more exact knowledge both of 
the persons and facts that have made the greatest figure in 
England in this age, than is common ; and I take pleasure in 
putting together what I know, with an impartiality that is 
altogether unusual. Distance of tie and place has totally 
blotted from my mind all traces of resentment or prejudice ; 
and I speak with the same indifference to the Court of Great 
Britain as I should do of that of Augustus Cesar.”” Lady Mary, 
however, merely wrote for her own entertainment, and burnt 
her manuscript almost as soon as it was composed. It would 
certainly have made interesting reading; but she never had 
any idea of publication. ‘I know mankind too well to think 
they are capable of receiving the truth, much less of applauding 
it ; or, were it otherwise, applause to me is as insignificant as 
garlands on the dead.” 


“T am exceedingly glad of your father’s good health: he 
owes it to his uncommon abstinence and resolution,” Lady Mary 
wrote to her daughter, April 11, 1759. ‘‘ I wish I could boast 





308 Lady Mary Wortley Montagu : 





thesame. I own Ihave too much indulged a sedentary humour 
and have been a rake in reading. You will laugh at the ex- 
pression, but I think the liberal meaning of the ugly word rake 
is one that follows his pleasures in contradiction to his reason. 
I thought mine so innocent I might pursue them with impunity. 
I now find that I was mistaken, and that all excesses are (though 
not equally) blamable. My spirits in company are false fire : 
I have a damp within ; from marshy grounds frequently arises 
an appearance of light. I grow splenetic, and consequently 
ought to stop my pen, for fear of conveying the infection.” 


‘““My health is very precarious ; may yours long continue 
and see the prosperity of your family. I bless God I have lived 
to see you so well established, and am ready to sing my Nunc 
dimittis with pleasure,’’ Lady Mary wrote to her daughter in 
November, 1760; and early in the next year she touched on 
the same subject in a letter to Sir James Steuart. ‘‘ I have not 
returned my thanks for your obliging letter so soon as both duty 
and inclination prompted me but I have had so severe a cold, 
accompanied with a weakness in my eyes, that I have been con- 
fined to my stove for many days. . . . I am preparing for my 
last and longest journey, and stand on the threshold of this 
dirty world, my several infirmities like posthorses ready to 
hurry me away.” 


It was in January, 1761, that Edward Wortley Montagu 
passed away at the age of eighty-three. He died at Wharn- 
cliffe, the family seat of the Wortleys, where he had lived in a 
most miserly manner He had only one luxury—tokay, of 
which he was passionately fond. He left a great fortune, the 
highest estimate of which was £1,350,000. Horace Walpole 
said the estate was worth {600,000. Walpole gives some 
particulars of the legacies: “‘ To his son, on whom six hundred 
a-year was settled, the reversion of which he has sold, he gives 
£1,000 a-year for life, but not to descend to any children he may 
have by any of his many wives. To Lady Mary, in lieu of 


Aton ee 


a! R 
Sanctus 
% 
Big $ See ty? 





f EDWARD WoRTLEY MONTAGU, JUNIOR. 
p. 308. 








Her Life and Letters 309 


dower, but which to be sure she will not accept, instead of the 
thirds of such a fortune, £1,200 a-year ; and after her to their 
son for life ; and then the {1,200 and £1,000 to Lady Bute and 
to her second son ; with £2,000 to each of her younger children ; 
all the rest, in present, to Lady Bute, then to her second son, 
taking the name of Wortley, and in succession to all the rest of 
her children, which are numerous ; and after them to Lord Sand- 
wich, to whom, in present, he leaves about £40,000. The son,you 
perceive, is not so well treated by his own father as his companion 
Taaffe * is by the French Court, where he lives, and is received 
on the best footing ; so near is Fort l’Evéque to Versailles.”’ 


On hearing of the death of her husband, Lady Mary be- 
thought herself of returning to England, from which she had 
been absent for more than a score of years. She was seventy- 
two years old, and may well have thought that her time, too, 
would soon come, and that she would like to die in her native 
country. Still, it was some time before she could bring herself 
to a decision to set out. She was delighted with the political 
success of Lord Bute and pleased with her daughter’s prosperity, 
but “ I am doubtful whether I will attempt to be a spectator of 
it,’ she confided in Sir James Steuartin April. “‘ Thaveso many 
years indulged my natural inclinations to solitude and reading, 
I am unwilling to return to crowds and bustle, which would be 
unavoidable in London. The few friends I esteemed are now 
no more: the new set of people who fill the stage at present are 
too indifferent to me even to raise my curiosity.’’ Also, as she 
said, she was beginning to feel the worst effects of age, blindness 
excepted, and was grown timorous and suspicious. 

It was no light thing for a woman of Lady Mary’s age to 
voyage alone, except for a servant or two, from Venice to 
London. Yet her indomitable spirit came to her aid, and in 
the autumn of 1761 she left Italy. She travelled by way of 
Augsberg and Frankfort to Rotterdam. The journey had been 


* Theodore Taaffe, an Irish adventurer, who, with Edward Wortley 
Montagu, was imprisoned in Fort l’Ev-que, at Paris, for cheating at cards 
in 1751. Theincident has been given in a pamphlet written by Montagu. 








310 Lady Mary Wortley Montagu : 


far from agreeable. ‘‘I am dragging my ragged remnant of 
life to England,” she wrote to Sir James Steuart on November 
20. “‘ The wind and tide are against me; how far I have 
strength to struggle against both I know not; that I am 
arrived here is as much a miracle as any in the golden legend ; 
and if I had foreseen half the difficulties I have met with I 
should not certainly have had courage to undertake it... . I 
am nailed down here by a severe illness of my poor Marianne, 
who has not been able to endure the frights and fatigues that 
we have passed.”’ 

When, about three weeks later, Marianne had sufficiently 
recovered to move on, Lady Mary was held up by a hard, 
impenetrable frost. The delay irked her, and she became 
somewhat depressed, and said that she was dubious, in her 
precarious state of health, whether she would arrive at her 
destination. At the beginning of the new year, she did actually 
make a start, and got half way to Helvoet, and was obliged to 
turn back by the mountains of sea that obstructed the passage. 
“T have had so many disappointments I can scarce entertain 
the flattering thought of arriving in London,” the poor lady 
complained ; but she found comfort in that “ It is uncommon at 
my age to have no distemper, and to retain all my senses in 
their first degree of perfection.’’ Later in the month she arrived 
in London. 

Horace Walpole, who heard everything, had, of course, heard 
that Lady Mary was returned to England, and in a letter of 
October 8, 1761, announced her return, adding with a brutality 
unusual even in him: “I have not seen her yet, though they — 
have not made her perform quarantine for her own dirt.” 
However, as he discovered shortly after, it was Lady Mary 
Wrottisley, and not Lady Mary Wortley Montagu, who had 
arrived. 

Of course, when Lady Mary had come to London, Walpole 
was one of the first to go and see her. “I went last night to 
visit her,’ he wrote to Sir Horace Mann on January 29. “I 
give you my honour, and you who know her, would credit me 








Her Life and Letters 311 


without it, the following is a faithful description. I found her 
in a miserable little chamber of a ready-furnished house, with 
two tallow candles, and a bureau covered with pots and pans. 
On her head, in full of all accounts, she had an old black-laced 
hood, wrapped entirely round, so as to conceal all hair or want of 
hair. No handkerchief, but up to her chin a kind of horse- 
man’s riding-coat, calling itself a pet-en-l’aiv, made of a dark 
green (green I think it had been) brocade, with coloured and 
silver flowers, and lined with furs ; boddice laced, a foul dimity 
petticoat sprig’d, velvet muffeteens on her arms, grey stockings 
and slippers. Her face less changed in twenty years than I 
could have imagined ; I told her so, and she was not so toler- 
able twenty years ago that she needed to have taken it for 
flattery, but she did, and literally gave me a box on the ear. 
She is very lively, all her senses perfect, her languages as im- 
perfect as ever, her avarice greater. She entertained me at 
first with nothing but the dearness of provisions at Helvoet. 
With nothing but an Italian, a French, and a Prussian, all 
men-servants, and something she calls an old secretary, but 
whose age till he appears will be doubtful ; she receives all the 
world who go to homage her as Queen-mother, and crams them 
into this kennel. The Duchess of Hamilton, who came in just 
after me, was so astonished and diverted, that she could not 
speak to her for laughing. She says that she left all her clothes 
at Venice. I really pity Lady Bute; what will the progress be 
of such a commencement ? ” 

Lady Mary rented a house in Great George Street, Hanover 
Square, whither her daughter and grandchildren came often. 
Occasionally she went about, and from time to time would grace 
an assembly with her presence. Horace Walpole saw her at 
some gathering, dressed in yellow velvet and sables, with a 
decent laced head and a black hood, almost like a veil, over her 
face. His prognostication that she would by her interference 
and demands for “ jobs’ make life hideous for Lord and Lady 
Bute proved to be unfounded, and he had the grace to say, 
‘She is much more discreet than I expected, and meddles with 





312 Lady Mary Wortley Montagu : 


nothing”; but he could not refrain from saying that “ she is 
woefully tedious in her narrations.” 

Lady Mary was suffering from cancer, which she concealed 
from her family and acquaintances until about the beginning of 
July (1762). Then it burst, and there was no hope of her life 
being much prolonged. On July 2 she wrote her last letter to 
Lady Frances Steuart, saying, ‘‘ I have been ill a long time, and 
am now so bad I am little capable of writing, but I would not 
pass in your opinion as either stupid or ungrateful. My heart 
is always warm in your service, and I am always told your affairs 
shall be taken care of.”’ If she was a bad woman to cross, at 
least even on her deathbed she tried to do service to her friends. 
Death had no terrors for her; she said she had lived long 
enough ; and she died, as she had lived, with great fortitude. 

Lady Mary passed away on August 21, 1762, at the age of 
seventy-three. Her remains were interred in the graveyard of 
Grosvenor Chapel, where also lie Ambrose Phillips, David 
Mallett, Lord Chesterfield, William Whitehead, John Wilkes, 
and Elizabeth Carter. 

All that Lady Mary possessed, except some trifling legacies, 
she left to Lady Bute. Her fortune is believed to have been 
inconsiderable, except for some valuable jewels. Walpole had 
one last gibe: ‘‘ With her usual maternal tenderness and usual 
generosity, she has left her son one guinea.” The gibe was 
unworthy, because Walpole knew quite well the career of that 
son, who, anyhow, was sufficiently provided for. It may be 
that it was the pricking of Walpole’s conscience for this last 
outburst that made him later administer a stern rebuke to Lady 
Craven. “I am sorry to hear, Madam, that by your account 
Lady Mary Wortley was not so accurate and faithful as modern 
travellers. The invaluable art of inoculation, which she brought 
from Constantinople, so dear to all admirers of beauty, and to 
which we owe, perhaps the preservation of yours, stamps her an 
universal benefactress ; and as you rival her in poetic talents 
I had rather you would employ them to celebrate her for her 
nostrum, than detect her for romancing.” 


INDEX 





INDEX 


A 


ABINGDON, Montagu Bertie, second 
Earl of, 83 

Addison, Joseph, 33, 110, 142, 181, 
248, 250 

Adrianople, 127~35 

Ancaster, Mary, Duchess of, 267 

Anglesea, Earl of, 83 

Anne, Queen of Great Britain and 
Ireland, 76 

Arbuthnot, Dr. John, 182, 184, 187 

Archer, Mr., 295 

Argyll, John Campbell, second Duke 
of, 83 

Astell, Mary, 254 

Atterbury, Francis, Bishop of Roch- 
ester, 246 


Avignon, 218, 219, 223, 273 


B 
Batuourst, Allan, first Earl of, 170, 


171 
Bedford, John Russell, fourth Duke 
of, 292 
Behn, Mrs. Aphra, 182 
Belgrade, 127, 140 
Bennett, Hannaford, xii, xiii 
Bentinck, Lady Isabella. See 
Kingston, Isabella, Duchess of 
Bernstorff, Baron von, 89, 96, 103, 


104 

Bertie, Mr., 204 
Binfield, Mr., 153 
Birtles, Mr., 215, 216 


Bolingbroke, Henry St. John, Vis- 
count, 226, 239, 246, 247-50, 
306 

Bologna, 207 

Bolton, Annie, Duchess of first) 
wife of third Duke), 236 

Bolton, Charles Paulet, second Duke 
Of43, (81 

Bolton, Charles Paulet, third Duke 
of, 236 

Bolton, Lavinia, Duchess of (second 
wife of third Duke), 236 

Bononcini, 168 

Bothmer, John Caspar, Baron von, 
83, 103 


Braithwayte, Mrs., 38 


Brand, Lady Caroline (half-sister 
of Lady Mary Montagu Wort- 
ley), 74 

Brand, Thomas, 74 

Braun (Lutheran clergyman), 103 

Brescia, 273 

Bristol, Elizabeth, Countess 
(second wife of first Earl), 
102, I15 

Brunswick, 125 

Burnet, Dr. Gilbert, Bishop of Salis- 
bury, 26-9, 72 

Bute, John Stuart, third Earl of 
(son-in-law of Lady Mary 
Montagu Wortley), 200, 294, 
297, 306, 311 

Bute, Mary, Countess of (daughter 
of Lady Mary Wortley Monta- 


of 
100, 


fu), La41O4;200,. 210,214; 
S25 MVPS AIT 28h, 289) 236, 
239, 240, 243, 244, 247, 249, 
252, 253, 254, 255, 259, 201, 
204,206; 2637 209) 273," 275; 
277,275, 280, 283, 285, 292, 
294, 297, 298, 301, 303, 307, 
B08, 311, 312 

C 


CADOGAN, William, first Earl, 190, 
Carlisle, Charles Howard, third Earl 


of, 80, 83, 114 

Carlisle, Henry Howard, fourth Earl 
of, 203 

Caroline, Princess of Wales, 81, 98, 
109, II5 


Carteret, John, second Baron (after- 
wards first Earl Granville), 217, 
222,202 

Centlivre, Susannah, 182 

Charles Edward, the ‘‘ Young Pre- 
tender,’’ 211 

Chetwynd, Mrs., 139 

Chiswell, Sarah, 113, 116, 133 

Chudleigh, Elizabeth. See King- 
ston, Elizabeth, Duchess of 

Clavering, John, 102 

Cleland, John, xii 

Cobham, Lady, 267 

Coleman, Mr., 38 

Cologne, 116 








316 Index 


Congreve, William, 33, 167, 179, 
240, 246 

Conti, Abbé, 115, 149, 204 

Coventry, Francis, 243, 280 

Cowper, William, first Earl, 83 

Cox & Cleeve, Messrs., 153 

Craon, Princess, 210 

Craggs, James, the younger, 94, 
95, 102, 103, 151 

Craven, Elizabeth, Lady (wife of 
sixth Baron), 312 

Croker, John Wilson, x 

Curll, Edmund, 112, 113 


D 


DALLAWAY, James, xli 

Danby, Thomas Osborne, first Earl 
of Danby (afterwards first 
Duke of Leeds), 32 

Darlington, Sophia Charlotte, Coun- 
tess of, 92, 93, 94, 96, 105, 108, 
109, 143 

Dawes, Sir William, Archbishop of 
Y¥ OF 7670.77.79 

Dela Warr, John, sixth Baron, 169 

Dennis, John, 181 

Devonshire, William Cavendish, 
second Duke of, 83 

Devonshire, William Cavendish, 
fourth Duke of, 292 

Dijon, 203 

Dorchester, Evelyn Pierrepont, first 
Marquess of. See Kingston, 
Evelyn, first Duke of 

Dorchester, Henry Pierrepont, Mar- 
quess of, 24 

Dresden, 124 


E 


EDGCUMBE, Mr., I9I, 192 

Edwin, Lady Charlotte, 267 

Edwin, Kitty, 148, 149 

Erskine, Lady Frances (niece of 
Lady Mary Montagu Wortley), 
200 


F 


FEILDING, Lady Mary. See King- 
ston, Mary, Countess of 
Feilding, William (uncle of Lady 
Mary Wortley Montagu), 26, 
65 

Fenton, Lavinia. See Bolton, Lav- 
inia, Duchess of 


Fielding, Henry, 25, 236-39, 240 

Fielding, Sarah, 226, 242 

Fitzwilliam, William, third Earl, 
206 

Florence, 209, 210, 211 

Fortescue, William, 112 

Fox, Henry. See Holland 

Frankfort-on-the-Main, 116 

Frederick Louis of Wales (after- 
wards Prince of Wales), 125 


G 


GARTH, Sir Samuel, 33, 73, 74, 187 

Gay, John, 110, III, 112, 113, 179 

Genoa, 145, 212 

George, 76, (97. S26 83a G1 Se, 
93, 98, 100, IOI, 102; 103; ri0; 
125 

George, Prince of Wales (afterwards 
George II), 97, 98, 109, IIo, 
170, 188 

Godolphin, Francis, second Earl of 
89, 90 

Gower, Evelyn, Countess Gower 
(wife of first Earl Gower, and 
sister of Lady Mary Wortley 
Montagu), 26, 74, 137, 194, 
199, 200 

Gower, John, first Earl (brother- 
in-law of Lady Mary Wortley 
Montagu), 26 

Grange, James Erskine, Baron, 197, 
200 

Granville, John, first Earl. See 
Carteret 

Grey, Arthur, 193 

Grimani, Cavaliere, 204, 206, 207 

Guerini, Cardinal Gerolamo, 264 


H 


HatiFax, Charles Montagu, first 
Earl of, 72, 83, 84, 85, 90, 96, 


II 
Hedkitton) Lady Archibald, 267 
Hamilton, Elizabeth, Duchess of 

(wife of sixth Duke), 311 
Hamilton, Lord William, 298 
Hanover, 125-26 
Harcourt, Simon, first Viscount, 82, 

246 
Fyardenuare: Baron von, 103 
Hattorf, Baron von, 103 
Henley, Sir Robert (afterwards 

first Earl of Northington), 292 
Henry, Cardinal York, 211 





Index 317 


Hervey, of Ickworth, John, Baron, 
75, 185, 195-97, 185, 268 
Hervey, Mary, Lady, 143, 195, 197 

Hewet, Mrs., 37, 38, 57, 84, 116 
Heywood, Eliza, 182 
Hinchinbroke, Lady, 81 
Hinchinbroke, Lord, 70 
Holdernesse, Frederica, Countess of 
(wife of third Earl), 169 
Holdernesse, Robert D’Arcy, fourth 
Earl of, 292 
Holland, Henry Fox, first Baron, 


292 
Huntingdon, Selina, Countess of 
(wife of ninth Earl), 267 


I 
INOCULATION 133-38 


J 
JameEs II, 95 
James, the ‘“ Old Pretender,’’ 95 
Jekyll, Sir Joseph, 81 
Jekyll, Lady, 81 
Jenison, Sir Matthew, 82 
Jervas, Charles, 110, 112, 129 
Jessop, Mr., 79, 82 
Johnson, R. Brimley, xii 
Johnson, Samuel, 251 


K 


KENDAL, Duchess of, 92, 93, 94, 
102, 103, 105, 106, 107, 10g 
Kent, Henry Grey, Duke of, 83 
Kielmansegg, Baron von, 92, 103 
Kielmansegg, Sophia Charlotte, 
Baroness von. See Darlington 
Kingston, Elizabeth, Duchess of 
(bigamous wife of second Duke), 


75 

Kingston, Evelyn Pierrepont, first 
Duke of (father of Lady Mary 
Wortley Montagu), 51, 52, 57, 
60, 61, 62, 71, 74, 78, 197-98 

Kingston, Evelyn Pierrepont, second 
Duke of Kingston (nephew of 
Lady Mary Wortley Montagu), 
25-6, 74-5, 199, 200 

Kingston, Gertrude, Countess of, 


24 

Kingston, Isabella, Duchess. of 
(second wife of first Duke), 74, 
198, 199 


Kingston, Mary, Countess. of 
(mother of Lady Mary Wortley 
Montagu), 25 

Kingston, Rachel, Countess of 
(wife of William, Earl of King- 
ston and sister-in-law of Lady 
Mary Wortley Montagu), 74 

Kingston, Robert, Earl of, 24 

Kingston, William, Earl of (brother 
of Lady Mary Wortley Monta- 
gu), 26, 65, 74 

Kneller, Sir Geoffrey, 170, 246 


L 


LEEDS, Peregrine Osborne, second 
Duke of, 38 

Leeds, Thomas Osborne, first Duke 
of. See Danby 

Legge, Henry Bilson, 292 

Leghorn, 211 

Leigh, Miss, 191, 192 

Leipzig, 124 

Lennox, Charlotte, 226, 242 

Lexington, Robert Sutton, second 
Baron, 81, 82 

Lovere, 273, 275, 283 

Lowther, Miss, 190 

Lyons, 145, 215, 217 


M 


MACCLESFIELD, Thomas Parker, 
Earl of. See Parker 

Mahomet (Turkish footman), 103 

Manley, Mary de la Riviere, 182 

Manners, Lady Betty, 190 

Mansel, Lord, 203 

Mansfield, William Murray, Lord, 
75 

Mar, Frances, Countess of (second 
wife of the sixth or eleventh 
Earl, and sister of Lady Mary 
Wortley Montagu), vil, 26, 65, 
WANITAL LIONEL, £23,124, 125, 
136, 137, 145, 148, 150, 151, 152- 
615 503,160) 170, 191) 532,173, 
E77, 11734. 879, 186; 188; 189, 
190, I9I, 193, 197, 198, 200, 214 

Mar, John Erskine, sixth or eleventh 
Earl of (brother-in-law of Lady 
Mary Wortley Montagu), 26, 
74, 77, 115, 200 

Marlborough, John Churchill, first 
Duke of, 83, 88, 90, 95 

Marlborough, Sarah, Duchess of xi, 


90 
Mead, Dr. Richard, 136 
Methuen, Sir Paul, 96, 97 





—_——_—— 


318 Index 


Mocenigo, Signora Pisani, 204 

Mohun, Lady, 139 

Montagu, Anne Wortley, 35, 36, 37, 
39, 42, 43 

Montagu, Edward Wortley (hus- 
band of Lady Mary Wortley 
Montagu), 32-46, 47-65, 66— 
74; 70-7; 78-87, 114-10, 123, 
124, 141-43, 145, 146, 155, 157, 
158, 201, 202, 203, 211-24, 
288, 303, 307, 308 

Montagu, Edward Wortley (son of 
Lady Mary Wortley Montagu), 
73, 135, 136, 214-24, 308, 312 

Montagu, James Graham, Duke of, 
8 


3 

Montagu, Lady Mary Wortley— 
Birth, 23; her family and par- 
entage, 23-6; her childhood, 
26; early taste for books, 26 ; 
a‘‘ toast ’’at the Kit-Cat Club, 
30; domestic duties, 30-1; 
meets Edward Wortley Mon- 
tagu, 32; corresponds with his 
sister, Anne, 35; fondness for 
admiration, 35;  correspon- 
dence with Edward Wortley 
Montagu, 42; courtship, 47; 
views of married life, 48; 
Montagu asks for Lady Mary’s 
hand, 50; Montagu refuses to 
make settlements, 50; Lord 
Dorchester refuses to sanction 
an engagement, 50; the lovers 
still correspond, 52; engaged 
to another, 57; the engage- 
ment broken off,\'57; elopes 
with Montagu, 64; marriage, 
65; early married life, 66-70 ; 
attempts to reconcile her father, 
72; birthofason, 73, 74; fam- 
ily happenings, 74, 75 interests 
herself in politics, 78-87; ac- 
count of the Court of George I, 
88-99; at Hanover, 100; 
at Court, 101-3; friendship 
withthe wits, 110; her ‘‘ Court 
Poems,’’ 112-3; her  hus- 
band appointed Ambassador 
to the Porte, 115 ; abroad, 116— 
45; wears Turkish dress, 130 ; 
made acquainted with practice 


ship with Pope, 161-67 ; takes 
a house at Twickenham, 168 ; 
intimacy with the Duke of 
Wharton, 171-8; quarrels 
with Pope, 179-86 ; ‘her circle, 
187-200; abroad again, 201— 
14, 273-306; relations with 
her son, 214-24; as a reader, 
225-51; on education and 
woman’s rights, 252-72; last 
years, 307-12 


Letters to: 


Arbuthnot, Dr. John, 182, 184 

Bristol, Elizabeth, Countess of, 
100, 102 

Burnet, Gilbert, Bishop of 
Salisbury, 27 

Bute, Mary, Countess of, 210, 
225, 228, 231, 235, 237, 238, 
239, 240, 242, 243, 244, 
247; 249, 252, 253; 254, 
255, 250, 201, 204; 0260, 
208, 269," 273,275, (277, 
280,283, 285,)) Bozhego7, 
298, 301, 307, 308, 

Chiswell, Sarah, 133 

Hewet, Mrs., 37, 38, 57 

Mar, Frances, Countess of, 116, 
PDs. LRT, 324, Das ees, 
137, 145, 148, 152-61, 168, 
169,270; V7 TM Le Aes: 
177) °E7S, LID, Oa ASS, 
189, 190, I9I, 193, 198, 


214 

Montagu, Anne Wortley, 35, 
36, 39, 42 

Montagu, Edward Wortley, 42, 
44,455.47, 45, 49,52) 193, 
54, 56, 57, OI, 62, 63, 64, 
07, 68, 7°; 72; 73; 76, 77; 
78, 79, 80, 81, 84, 85, 86, 
QIT, 215, 217," 2182 Zi. 
220, '223,°224, 2388 

Pomfret, Henrietta Louis, 
Countess of, 201, 203, 205, 


207 

Pope, Alexander, 139, 165, 
166 

Rich, Lady, 118 

Steuart, Sir James, 299, 300, 
303, 308, 310 

Thistlethwayte, Mrs., 115 


of inoculation, 133-38; birth Montagu, Mary Wortley (daughter 


of a daughter, Mary, 143-45; 
meets her sister, Lady Mar, at 


of Lady Mary Wortley). See 
Bute, Mary, Countess of 


Paris, 145; leader of Society Montagu, Sidney Wortley, 32 
in London, 147-49; trouble Montrose, James Graham, Duke of, 


with Rémond, 149-160 ; friend- 


83 








Index 319 


Murray, Mrs., 148, 155, 193-95, 197 

Murray, John (British Resident at 
Venice), 292 

Mustapha (Turkish footman), 103 


N 

NAPLES, 212 

Newcastle, Thomas Pelham-Holles, 
first Duke of, 292 

Nimeguen, 116 

Norfolk, Mary, Duchess of (wife of 
eighth Duke), 95 

Northington, Robert Henley, first 
Earl of. See Henley 

Nottingham, Daniel Finch, second 
Earl of, 83, 90 


O 


OLDFIELD, Mrs., 175 

Orrery, John Boyle, fifth Earl of, 
244-47, 248 

Oxford, Edward Harley, Earl of, 


245 
Oxford, Robert Harley, Earl of, 83 


zB 


PADUA, 297, 302 

Paris, 145 

Parker, Sir Thomas (after Earl of 
Macclesfield), 82 

‘“ Paston, George,’’ xii 

Pelham, Mr., 192 

Pelham, Lady Katherine, 192 

Pelham, Lord, 79, 80, 82 

Pembroke, Thomas Herbert, eighth 
Earl of, 83 

Pendarves, Mrs., 267 

Peterborough, Anastasia, Countess 
of (wife of third Earl). See 
Robinson 

Peterborough, Charles Mordaunt, 
third Earl of, 101, 169, 170, 182, 
246 

Peterwaradin, 127 

Philips, Ambrose, 181 

Phipps, Mr., 69 

Pierrepont, Lady Anne (half-sister 
of Lady Mary Wortley Mont- 
agu), 74 

Pierrepont, Lady Caroline. See 
Brand, Lady Caroline 

Pierrepont, Elizabeth (grandmother 
of Lady Mary Wortley Mon- 


tagu), 25, 26 
Pierrepont, Lady Evelyn. See 
Gower 


Pierrepont, Lady Frances. See Mar 


Pierrepont, Gervase (afterwards 
Lord Pierrepont of Hanslope), 
257 00, 7), 72 

Pierrepont, Lady Mary. See Mon- 
tagu, Lady Mary Wortley 

Pierrepont, Robert, 25 

Pierrepont, William, 24, 25 

Platen, Count von, 103 

Pomfret, Henrietta Louise, Coun- 
tess of, 201, 203, 205, 207, 2090, 
210 

Pope, Alexander, x17 £41; -232,/ 173, 
115, 139, 146, 147, 151, 152, 
161-67, 168, 174, 179-86, 196, 
245, 246, 249, 250 

Prague, 123, 124 

Pulteney, Mr., 190 

Putteney, Mrs., 190 


Q 
QUEENSBURY, Catherine, Duchess 
of, 267 
R 


RaAButTin, Mme., 122 

Ratisbon, 116 

Rémond, M., x, 149-61 

Rhys, Ernest, xi 

Rich, Lady, 115, 118, 190 

Richardson, Jonathan, 113 

Richardson, Samuel, 227-35 

Roberts, Lady Essex, 191 

Robethon, John, 89, 90, 103, 104 

Robinson, Anastasia (afterwards 
wife of third Earl of Peter- 
borough), 168, 169, 170, 203 

Rome, 211 

Ropes, A. R., xii 

Rotterdam, 116 

Roxburgh, John Ker, first Duke of, 
8 


3 
Rutland, John Manners, second 


Duke of, 203 
S 
SANDWICH, Edward Montagu, first 
Earl of, 32 
Sandwich, Edward Montagu, third 
Earl of, 66 


Saunderson, Lady Frances, 267 

Saunderson, Sir William, 267 

Scarborough, Richard Lumley, firts 
Earl of, 83 

Schlitz-Goertz, Baron von, 89, 103 

Schoénbrunn, Count, 122 

Senesino, 168, 169 


Comic ik sl ten ean 2 te be a a nate tk) Rl et ee a SS i i i i a i i ii Tit et et 





320 


Index 





Sevigné, Mme. de, vii, 248 

Sheridan, Richard Brinsley, 244 

Shrewsbury, Charles Talbot, Duke 
of, 82, 83 

Skerritt, Maria. See Walpole, Maria, 
Lad 

Smollett, Tobias, 239, 240, 241 

Somerset, Charles Seymour, sixth 
Duke of, 83 

Sophia Dorothea (consort of George 
T), 92 

Sophia, Electress of Hanover, 98 

South Sea Bubble, 150, 151 

Spence, Rev. Joseph, 129 

Spielmann, M. H. xiii 

Stafford, Claude Charlotte, Coun- 
tess of, 156, 174, 187, 263 

Stair, John Dalyrymple, second 
Earl of, 148, 159, 171, 172 

Stanhope, James, first Earl, 83, 91, 
142, 262 

Stanyan, Mr., 142 

Steele, Sir Richard, 33, 50-1, 110, 
137, 239, 250 

Stephen, Sir Leslie, xii 

Steuart, Lady Frances, 290, 299, 


300 

Steuart, Sir James, 290, 294, 299, 
300, 303, 308, 310 

Strafford, Thomas Wentworth, sec- 
ond Earl of, 82 

Strickland, Mr., 82 

Stuart, Lady Louisa (grand-daughter 
of Lady Mary Wortley Mon- 
tagu), -vili; ix, Xx, =i 

Suffolk, Henrietta, Countess of, 118, 
170 

Sunderland, Charles Spencer, third 
Earl of, 83 

Sunderland, Countess of, 192 

Sutton, Sir R., 81, 82, 142 

Swift, Jonathan, 184, 244, 249, 306 


ay 


TARROCCO, Count, 121 

Temple, Richard Temple Grenville, 
Earl, 292 

Tenison, Dr. Thomas (Archbishop 
of Canterbury), 82 

The Hague, 116 

Thistlethwayte, Mrs., 115, 143 

Thomas, Moy, xii 

Tichborne, Mrs. Betty, 191 

Tillotson, Dr. John (Archbishop 
of Canterbury), 248 


Townshend, Charles, second Vis- 
count, 80, 83, 88, 89, 90, 91, 
107, 148 

Townshend, Dorothy, Viscountess 
(second wife of second — Vis- 
count), 81, 88, 89, 90, 114, 148 

Tunis, 145 

Turin, 145, 211 

Twiman, Mr., 70 


Vv 


VALENCE, 220-3 

Vanbrugh, Sir John, 33 

Vane, Viscountess (wife of second 
Viscount), 240, 306 

Vienna, 116, 118-23, 127, 203-7, 
292, 298, 299, 300, 301 

Villeroi, Duc de, 156 


WwW 


WALPOLE, Lady [Catherine] (first 
wife of Sir Robert Walpole), 
114, 187 

Walpole, Dorothy. See Townshend 

Walpole, Horace (afterwards fourth 
Earl of Oxford), 174, 209, 210, 
9X2, 279, 310,311, 318 

Walpole [Margaret], Lady (wife of 
eldest son of Sir Robert Wal- 
pole, afterwards second Earl 
of Oxford), 148, 209, 210 

Walpole, Lady [Maria] (second wife 
of Sir Robert Walpole), ix, 
XLT OO Loy east 

Walpole, Sir Robert (afterwards first _ 
Earl of Oxford), ix, 83, 84, 88, 
89, 90, 107, 114, 186, 187 

Westmorland, Mary, Countess of 
(wife of seventh Earl), 267 

Wharton, Lady Jane, 190 

Wharton, Maria, Duchess of, 172, 


173 
Wharton, Philip, Duke of, 171-8 
Wharton, Thomas, Marquess of, 79, 
90, I7I 
Whitsted, Mrs., 203 
Williams, Sir Charles, Hanbury, 295 
Winchester, Lady, 81, 86 
Winton, George, Earl of, 112 
Wolfenbiittel, Prince of, 206 
Wirzberg, 116 
Wycherley, William, 246 


Y 
Youna, Edward, viii, 187 





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